People were running down the lawn now; one of the grooms with a ladder, another with a rope, and Jack in front of them all, ripping off his jacket as he ran and dropping it on the grass so that he could dive straight in and catch hold of Lucy from Sally’s arms, passing the little girl up into the eager grasp of the grooms.
Sally felt her skirts hitch on something under the water and struggled ineffectually to free herself, gulping a mouthful of clammy weed-filled water in the process. Her limbs suddenly felt weighted with lead, her shoulders aching, and the drag of her skirts pulling her down. She thrashed about, reaching for the rope that snaked into the water beside her, missing it and going under again. For a second she had a terrifying vision of what it must have been like for her father as the water closed over his head, and then Jack was beside her, his arm hard about her waist, dragging her up into the daylight again and she could feel his strength and knew that she was safe. He scooped her up in his arms and her sodden skirts ripped and then she was rolling over and over on the warm wood of the jetty and someone was wrapping a blanket about her and the heat of the sun started to penetrate her chill and she began to shiver and shiver with reaction.
Charlotte was holding Lucy in her arms and rubbing her chilled body with the blanket. Lucy had recovered her consciousness and been violently sick, which Sally could only think was a good thing. Lady Ottoline was marshalling the servants, sending a groom to Dauntsey village for a doctor, despatching housemaids to warm some water for baths and to fetch fresh towels and blankets. Stephen had just arrived, pale and distraught, to support his wife and daughter back up to the house.
‘Come on.’ Jack swept Sally up into his arms. ‘We need to get you out of those wet clothes and into a warm bath.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Sally said, through chattering teeth. ‘Thank goodness you came, Jack. I was so afraid I was going to let her go. I thought she was dead!’ Her voice broke on the word and she turned her face into the warmth of Jack’s neck and breathed in the reassuring scent of his skin. For a second she thought she felt his lips brush her cheek in utter tenderness although his arms were as strong as steel about her.
‘You did very well,’ he whispered. ‘You saved Lucy’s life.’
Sally closed her eyes as he carried her up to the terrace, into the house and directly up the stairs to her bedroom, ignoring the ineffectual fluttering of the servants and shutting the bedroom door in their faces.
‘Take those wet clothes off,’ he ordered, as he put Sally gently on her feet in the black-and-white tiled bathroom and turned on the taps so that the water gushed into the bath.
Sally blushed. ‘I will do no such thing with you in the room! You can send one of the maids to attend to me.’
Jack shook his head. ‘They are all at sixes and sevens and would be no use at all. You will have to make do with me. I’m going to fetch some hot water to top up the bath; by the time I get back, I expect you to be naked and in the water.’
The hot colour deepened in Sally’s face even as she shivered in the wet folds of the tea gown. She heard the door slam behind Jack and started to struggle with the buttons and laces of the dress, but her fingers felt cold and were shaking so much that the fastenings slipped from her grip. When Jack returned, what seemed like a mere few minutes later, he found her half-out of the gown and struggling helplessly while the material dripped a puddle onto the floor.
‘One of these days,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I will get you out of your clothes without destroying them in the process.’
He ripped the sodden shreds of the tea gown from Sally’s body and dropped them on the floor.
Sally gave a gasp. ‘Charley’s dress!’
‘You surely don’t think that it would be fit to wear ever again, do you?’ Jack countered. He looked at her. ‘Do you want me to take off your chemise as well?’
‘No!’ Sally said. ‘Go away!’
Jack grinned. ‘I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.’
After he had gone out, Sally managed to struggle out of the clinging remnants of her underwear and slid into the scented waters of the bath with a little sigh of relief. She lay back, eyes closed, whilst the hot water lapped about her shoulders and soothed her cold body. But the little shivers that racked her would not go away. Unbidden, the image of her father’s lifeless body came into her mind. His face had been grey when they had finally dragged him from the river, the weed clinging to his body, sodden and unmoving. She shuddered, remembering the weight of Lucy in her arms and the terrible conviction she had that the child would slip from her grasp and be lost to her for ever, just as Sir Peter had been …
‘Sally?’
She had not heard Jack’s voice through the tormenting images in her mind, but now she realised with a pang of shock that she must have been sitting there a long time; the bath water was cooling and he had come into the bathroom to find her and once again she was shaking and shaking as though she could not stop. Jack gave an oath, grabbed a towel and plucked her bodily from the water, wrapping the material around her and holding her close as he carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on to the bed. A second later he was back at her side with a glass of brandy in his hands. He held it to her lips.
‘You’re in shock,’ he said harshly. ‘I should have realised.’
Sally shook her head. ‘No—’
‘Drink this, then we’ll talk.’
The spirit burned Sally’s throat and helped her to pull her thoughts back from the brink. She put the glass down and drew the towel more closely and protectively about her, reaching for the eiderdown and drawing it up to her chin.
‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I think I am more shaken than I realised. It is true that the accident reminded me of my father. He died of drowning.’
Jack swore again. ‘I did not realise. I am sorry.’
‘I do not speak of it,’ Sally said, burrowing beneath the covers and feeling the warmth gradually banish the chill in her bones. ‘It was a long time ago now. We were punting on the river and he lost his footing and fell. I thought he would swim ashore and I tried to grab his hand, but he disappeared. I waited and waited—and only realised too late that there was something dreadfully wrong.’
‘What happened?’ Jack asked. He sat down on the edge of the bed and sought her hand beneath the covers, holding it in a comforting grasp.
‘When I realised he had not come up to the surface again, I screamed and screamed,’ Sally said. ‘Some of the other boatmen came then and helped me search, but it was too late. The police recovered his body from the river that evening. He had hit his head on the edge of the punt as he fell and sank like a stone.’ Another shudder racked her. ‘I have been terrified of water ever since.’
‘And yet you jumped in without hesitation to rescue Lucy,’ Jack said, his grip tightening on her hand.
‘I could not let it happen again,’ Sally said. ‘It was my fault that Papa died. I learned to swim after that, in case I ever needed it.’
Jack was very still. ‘What do you mean when you say that it was your fault your father died?’
Sally freed herself from his grip and fidgeted a little with the edge of the eiderdown. She avoided his eyes.
‘I could have saved him,’ she said.
‘And then Nell and Connie would not have had to fend for themselves?’ Jack suggested. ‘I had wondered at your determination to take care of them.’
Sally was shocked by his perception. She had not intended to say so much. She had not wanted to reveal her innermost fear and guilt.
‘I am the eldest,’ she excused.
‘But that is not why you struggle so hard to defend them,’ Jack said. Sally saw something change in his face. ‘You feel guilt for something that is not your fault.’ Abruptly, Jack stood up. He walked across to the window before turning back to look at her.
‘Do you remember telling me last night that I should not take the blame for something that was not my fault?’ he said conversationally.
�
�That was different,’ Sally said.
Jack smiled. ‘Was it? Strange how it is always easier to see the beam in someone else’s eye. Think about it.’ His smile broadened. ‘And at the least you need not worry about taking care of Connie any longer. That is Bertie’s responsibility now.’
He came back to her and bent to kiss her, a kiss for once that was gentle and devoid of the tempestuous passion that had characterised their relationship.
‘Oh, Sally Bowes,’ he said, against her lips, ‘don’t let the past haunt you. You are too sweet and generous for that to happen.’
The tenderness of his kiss undermined Sally’s defences completely. She felt a sudden, huge and surprising rush of relief because the fear had gone and with Jack she felt safe. She drew him to her, sliding her hands over his shoulders and it was only then that she realised his shirt was still damp and clinging to his body. In his hurry to care for her he had certainly neglected his own comfort.
‘You’ll catch a chill!’ she protested, drawing back, and he smiled at her and pulled the shirt over his head in one fluid movement before joining her on the bed again.
His skin was warm beneath her fingertips and he felt so vital and alive that Sally drank in the scent and the taste and the strength of him, giving him back kiss for gentle kiss, wanting to feel closer still. Their tongues tangled, delicate at first, then bold and searching. Both of them were too intent on each other to hear the commotion in the bedroom doorway until Charlotte gave a muffled squeak.
‘We did knock!’ she said.
‘Are you lost to all sense of propriety, nephew?’ Lady Ottoline demanded, bustling into the bedroom and thrusting Jack’s wet shirt towards him.
‘Absolutely, Aunt Ottoline,’ Jack said. ‘Utterly and completely.’
For a second even Lady Ottoline was silenced. ‘When I spoke to you of setting up your nursery,’ she said, with a ferocious glare in Sally’s direction, ‘I did not mean for you to start immediately. I shall call the bishop and arrange a special licence at once!’
‘That,’ Jack said pleasantly, pulling his shirt on, ‘is Sally’s decision, Aunt, not yours.’ He bent to place a final kiss on her lips. ‘I will see you later, darling. For now I think I should leave you to rest.’ He paused, his eyes still very close to hers. ‘Despite our conversation last night,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I would like you to reconsider, Sally. Please do not reject me out of hand.’
‘Out!’ Lady Ottoline ordered, shooing him through the door and closing it firmly behind them.
Charley gave a giggle and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘I only came to thank you, Sally, and to make sure that in saving Lucy you did not take hurt yourself,’ she said, ‘but now I see that you are in such good health I shall have no more concerns on that score!’
‘I hope,’ Sally said hastily, ‘that Lucy is recovering?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Charley said. ‘The doctor thinks there is no real harm done and she is sleeping now. Stephen is sitting with her.’ She looked at Sally. ‘But for your prompt actions though, Sally …’ She shuddered. ‘Well, I do not like to think what might have happened. What a blessing that you can swim!’ A frown puckered her forehead. ‘One thing puzzles me though.’ She made a slight, embarrassed gesture with her hands. ‘When we came in and you and Jack were … well, you know …’
‘Kissing,’ Sally said helpfully.
‘Yes!’ Charley said. ‘And sort of lying on the bed together and—’
‘Yes,’ Sally said, ‘anyway …’
‘Well …’ Charley blushed. ‘I am a little confused as I am sure that when you arrived on Friday your engagement was only a ruse and yet now …’ Her voice tailed away uncertainly.
‘Yes, of course.’ Sally had forgotten that Charley had been party to the original deception. ‘I am sorry to give you concern, Charley. The truth is that your brother has proposed to me in earnest, and—’
She was unable to say anything else as Charley launched herself at her and gave her a bear hug.
‘How marvellous!’ Charley gasped. ‘I knew it! I knew that Jack was in love with you. All that posturing around over Greg Holt’s attentions to you, and pretending that he did not care. I knew from the start that you were meant to be together.’
Sally extracted herself carefully from the hug. ‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ she warned.
Charley’s face fell ludicrously. ‘But you will! Oh, Sally, please say you will!’
‘I don’t know,’ Sally said honestly. ‘I know you think that Jack loves me, Charley …’ she put a hand out to halt Charley’s rush of affirmative words ‘… but the truth is that I think he is still in love with Merle Jameson and maybe he always will be.’
Charley’s face stilled and she was uncharacteristically silent for several moments. ‘I was only sixteen when Jack eloped with Merle,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘and it is true that he did love her desperately.’ She saw Sally’s expression and shook her head slightly. ‘I am sorry, Sally, but you yourself have said that it was the case. I didn’t understand Jack’s feelings at the time, but now that I am older I can see that it was a mad, passionate, sort of love. He put her on a pedestal and wanted to take her away from her cruel husband. But it was also a very young and naïve kind of a love. I do not know if their feelings would have survived had Merle lived. But …’ she hesitated ‘… I think Jack loves you in a way that is no less profound, just different.’
The door flew open without a knock and Connie bustled in. Behind her in the doorway Sally could see Lady Ottoline lurking with a face like thunder, and Bertie, looking distressed.
‘Not now, old thing—’ he started to say, but Connie ignored him and wafted towards her sister on a wave of overpowering scent.
‘Sally darling!’ Connie said dramatically. ‘We just got back and heard what happened. How utterly ghastly! Such a good thing that I wasn’t here—I am terrified of water and might have damaged my new blue tussore gown in all the excitement!’ She turned to Charley. ‘I hope the child was not injured?’
Charley was, for once, completely silenced, and it was left to Lady Ottoline to sweep magnificently into the room and deal with the interloper. ‘It might help, Mrs Basset,’ she said icily, ‘if you knew the name of Charlotte and Stephen’s daughter and actually cared about her welfare into the bargain.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ Connie spluttered. ‘I am here to enquire into my sister’s health—’
‘As though you care a ha’pence for that either!’ Lady Ottoline snapped. She looked from Connie to Bertie, who was trying to efface himself against the velvet wall hangings. ‘Sadly it does not take a towering intellect to work out why my nephew chose to marry you, Mrs Basset,’ she said, ‘and I realise that it cannot be for your conversation. If he wishes to sit and look at a spiteful and empty-headed little doll for the rest of his life, then that is his choice. But I do not care to, so you will remove yourselves from this house forthwith and make sure that you are not within twenty miles of me at any time in the future. That is all.’ And she swept out again.
‘Well, upon my word,’ Connie spluttered, a bright spot of colour burning in her cheeks. ‘Who does she think she is?’
‘She was the person who was going to leave her fortune to me,’ Bertie said gloomily. He grabbed Connie’s arm. ‘Come along, old girl. Time to make a swift exit, I think. What do you say to another night at the Randolph?’
Chapter Nine
It was raining when Sally got back to London, big fat summer raindrops that spattered the dry cobbles and made the air smell of dust. Jack had wanted to drive her back, but Sally had insisted on taking the railway; she needed time alone to think. She had told Jack that she would give him an answer to his proposal that night, after the opening of the new Crimson Salon at the Blue Parrot, which meant that her whirlwind affair had lasted precisely a week. It seemed a perilously short space of time on which to make a decision that would affect the rest of her life so profoundly. Yet even if she turned Jack down, she could see
that things would not be the same; he had come into her life and changed everything.
The club was reassuringly calm and quiet. Dan took her through everything that had happened in her absence and assured her that they were ready for the opening. Keeping her eye on the clock so that she would have plenty of time to get dressed for the evening, Sally worked her way through the pile of papers and correspondence on her desk. It was at about five o’clock, when she was thinking of going upstairs to get changed, that there was a knock at the door and Greg Holt came in and closed the door behind him.
‘May I speak with you, Sally?’ he asked.
Sally smiled. ‘Of course! It is good to see you again, Greg. Are you coming to the opening of the Crimson Salon tonight?’
Greg nodded. He rubbed his chin a little uneasily. ‘I wondered … That is, I thought I might bring Nell with me as my guest.’
Sally was so surprised she almost upset the inkpot. ‘Nell? My sister?’
‘The same,’ Greg said, with a faint grin. His eyes were nervous. ‘I looked her up when I got back to London.’
‘That must have caused a stir in Blakelock Street,’ Sally said drily.
‘Yes.’ Greg pulled a face. ‘I will move them out of there as soon as I can. I am sure the children would be happier in the country and Nell would look so much better with colour in her cheeks. It’s no place for them to be—’ He broke off as he saw Sally’s expression. ‘What?’ he said, a little defensively.
Sally was laughing. ‘Oh, Greg, that was quick! I always said that you were a managing sort of a man!’
‘And you never needed me to manage you,’ Greg said ruefully, ‘but Nell is different. And I have known her for years. It is not as though this is sudden.’
‘No,’ Sally said. She gave him a sharp look. ‘But Nell is not like me. She is a person in her own right, Greg.’
‘I know,’ Greg said. ‘I do know that, Sal. I can only hope that with her political convictions Nell can be persuaded to look kindly upon me.’
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