Jack on the Box

by Patricia Wynn

She eyed him warily, but did not seem offended by his request.

  “You say this is your grandfather’s house? Why was I brought here?”

  Cecily smiled. “My grandfather, Sir Waldo, is a subscriber to the Foundation for the Relief of Indigent Coachmen and their Dependents. He often extends his hospitality to coachmen, and when he heard of your injury, he insisted you be brought here to recuperate.” Her eyes twinkled. “He likes to have visits from other drivers, and he would be very glad, when you are better, to converse with you about the finer points of driving.”

  Jack recalled that she had mentioned her grandfather’s interest in coaching when she had ridden with him on the mail. “Of course. He must be the one who supplied you with that very useful piece of harness.”

  Cecily inclined her head. She seemed slightly flustered by the recollection.

  “And you live here?” Jack asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I most certainly shall be happy to converse with him,” Jack said, forgetting his current station. “Will you be so kind as to give my compliments to Sir Waldo, and thank him for his generosity?”

  “And whose name shall I give?” she asked.

  This reminded him of his situation, and he answered more humbly, “That would be Henley, miss. Jack Henley.” He wondered if she had noticed the slip in his manner. It seemed so difficult to remember his position when she was near.

  She smiled enigmatically, and Jack suspected that she was more than a little amused.

  “I shall be happy to convey your compliments, Mr. Henley. Now I shall leave you to your rest, but if you have any requirements for your comfort, I beg you will tell the girl who is serving you. The doctor wants you to rest as much as possible.”

  Jack opened his mouth to protest her leaving, then closed it again with a frown. She could not be expected to linger at the whim of a coachman, and he had no intention of divulging his true identity.

  He lay back in the bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was a strange kettle of fish! To awaken in her home, of all places! He could scarcely believe his good fortune. And now he knew her name. Cecily. Cecily Wolverton. Miss Wolverton to him now, that was true. But Jack was by nature a cheerful fellow, and he did not concern himself overmuch with details. He would soon come about. And now he could rest content in the knowledge that he was under the same roof as a very intriguing lady. He only wondered why her name should sound so familiar.

  His leg hurt him dreadfully, so he kept his promise, drank his laudanum, and drifted off into a happy sleep.

  * * * *

  In the afternoon he woke to find his leg throbbing unbearably. There was no one else in the room, but he saw that another tray had been left. It held a bowl of thin soup—nothing else—and it must have been there for some time for the fat had begun to congeal on the liquid’s surface. Jack eyed it disgustedly and swore. The pain in his leg was enough to try the best of tempers, and while a substantial meal might have lifted his spirits, the soup was an affront to his sensibilities.

  There was no way for him to ring for a servant, the servants’ rooms not being equipped with bell pulls. But there was a light, straight chair set close to his bed. He reached for it, swearing again as the movement set his leg to burning, and began to thump it against the floor.

  The sound echoed down through the manor, and soon he heard quick steps coming up the stairs, followed by a pair of heavier ones.

  “Lord on us, Mr. Henley!” cried the girl who had brought him his porridge that morning, as she entered the room. “Whatever is the matter? You’ll have the whole house down upon us!”

  Jack frowned at the girl. He had allowed himself to hope that the steps he had heard belonged to her mistress.

  “My leg hurts. That’s what the matter is,” he said. “And I am hungry. Would you please fetch your mistress and tell her I would be grateful for some more laudanum?”

  An offended voice came from the doorway, “That will not be necessary, young man.” An older woman had followed the maid up the stairs and was standing at the door, puffing in indignation. “Miss Cecily gave me instructions you was to have another dose when you woke up. You’ve got no call to bother her. You can have your laudanum and go back to sleep after you’ve had your broth.”

  She approached his bed with a glass.

  This was not at all what Jack wanted. “I thank you, whoever you are,” he said irritably, “But I must insist that you call your mistress. I want a word with her.”

  The woman turned red in the face. “I am Mrs. Selby, if you please. Housekeeper to Sir Waldo Staveley. And I’ll have none of your cheek!” She began to grumble, “Coming in here and raising such a rumpus. You ought to be ashamed!”

  Jack bit back a retort. He reminded himself that these people knew nothing of him other than that he was a mail coach driver.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Selby,” he said more cordially. “But I would be extremely grateful if you would ask your mistress if I might have a word with her.”

  The housekeeper looked at him suspiciously. “And why would you be needing to talk to Miss Cecily? Not to repeat them things you said to her yesterday, I hope?”

  Jack was startled. “Yesterday? What did I say yesterday?”

  Mrs. Selby would not oblige him. She looked as if she would like to, but for some reason could not repeat his words. “Never you mind,” was all she said. “But you were that disrespectful.”

  “I was?” Jack was thoroughly mystified. He had never spoken disrespectfully to a lady in his life. And if he had, why had Miss Cecily given no sign of being offended? He decided Mrs. Selby must be exaggerating and dismissed her comment from his mind.

  “Well, never mind that now. I, of course, shall be most respectful to your mistress. But would you please send someone to fetch her. I really am in the most intolerable pain.”

  Now Mrs. Selby was not a cruel woman, but neither did she think Miss Cecily should be waiting on a common coachman. She tried to get Jack to drink his laudanum, but he refused. Then she tried to coax him with his soup, but he complained that it was too cold. In frustration, she told him that if it were left to her she would let him lie and rot, but Miss Cecily had left her orders that he was to be made comfortable.

  “Then ask her to come here, please, and I will promise to be a good boy.”

  Mrs. Selby noticed the firm set of his mouth. There was something about him she mistrusted, but she had lived long enough to respect determination wherever she saw it. She also knew that Jack’s ghostly pallor was a sign of real pain.

  Without another word she nodded to the servant girl, who ran gratefully from the room. Mrs. Selby rose ponderously from her chair and started towards the door, looking over her shoulder only to deliver these final words: “Very well, young man. But just so you know, I’ll be right outside here in the corridor if Miss Cecily needs me.”

  Jack closed his eyes and sighed in relief, but he wondered what he had said yesterday to make Mrs. Selby so wary of him. Perhaps the pain had made him curse. He must apologize to Cecily if he had said anything rude.

  After a few minutes, Cecily entered. She must have come quickly to arrive so soon, he reflected, and now that she was there he felt sheepish. She studied him with concern as she stood by the bed.

  “What is the matter, Mr. Henley? Sarah said you would not take your medicine.”

  She looked young and fresh standing there, in a green muslin gown which hugged her neat figure. Feeling curiously better, Jack stared at her a moment longer before answering.

  “I am sorry for disturbing you, Miss Cecily, but I must ask a favour.”

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked. She still did not seem to be offended.

  “Might I have . . .” he began. It sounded so silly, really. “Might I have something to eat?”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Haven’t you been given anything, Mr. Henley? Oh, I am so very sorry! But I brought you in a bowl of soup myself!”

  “You did?” Jack said, peculiarly ple
ased. “Well, yes, the soup was here when I awoke. But, you see, it was very cold by that time, and I could not eat it.”

  “Naturally,” she said, quite contrite. “I should have left instructions for it to be heated and brought to you later. You were sleeping so soundly when I brought it, that I did not like to disturb you. I thought you would wake soon. Would you like to have more brought now?”

  Jack directed her a pleading look. “No, not exactly. I was wondering whether I might not have something more substantial. You see, my leg may be injured, but I assure you, my stomach is perfectly unharmed.”

  Cecily looked blankly at him for one moment and then laughed. “Yes, I see. I am so sorry, Mr. Henley. You must be starving! Well, I had quite thought you would be feeling too poorly to eat. I shall have something brought up to you quickly. But you must take your laudanum. Mrs. Selby told me you were in pain.”

  Jack shifted uncomfortably and saw her wince in sympathy.

  “I can’t very well do that or I shall fall asleep before my food gets here,” he said.

  She frowned, thinking for a moment. Then she said, “You ought to take it. It will take a short while to take effect, and I will engage to stay with you to keep you awake until you have eaten.”

  Jack readily agreed to this arrangement, so Cecily stepped out into the hall to order his meal. He behaved docilely when she gave him his medicine.

  The dosage was not really so strong as to put him to sleep, but he did not bother to tell his companion. She sat down upon the small chair, which seemed perfectly suited to hold her, and folded her hands in her lap.

  Recalling what Mrs. Selby had said, Jack cleared his throat and ventured, “Miss Cecily, when I was carried in, I hope I did not say anything particularly offensive. If I did, I hope you will pardon me on the grounds that I was not myself.”

  Her brows lifted. “Offensive? I do not recall that you said anything offensive, Mr. Henley.”

  Jack sighed inwardly with relief. “That’s all right, then. It was just that Mrs. Selby said . . . But never mind. It must not have been anything.”

  Cecily smiled rather secretively and he was left to wonder at the source of her amusement.

  “You must tell me about your work, Mr. Henley,” she suggested. So Jack told her about being a driver on the London to Birmingham mail, and as he talked, the laudanum began to take effect. His leg hurt less, and he forgot for a while who he was pretending to be. If Cecily noticed anything unusual in the manner in which he discussed his employment, however, she kept it to herself.

  A servant brought in a heavily laden tray and set it beside him. Cecily watched as Jack was given a large plate of roast mutton, boiled potatoes and turnips, with pudding and ale. It was a meal for a hungry labourer, but Jack did not mind, for he had an appetite to suit.

  Much to his satisfaction, Cecily stayed while he ate and sat until the last bite of food crossed his lips. Then she rose and removed the tray to one side.

  “There, Mr. Henley. I trust you will be able to sleep now. Henceforth, I shall give orders that you are to be fed regularly at mealtimes. And if there is anything amiss, you must simply say.”

  Jack did not like the note of finality in her voice, so he said, “But how am I to call anyone? I do not like to be thumping the floor with a chair for the servants whenever I am in need of anything.”

  Cecily’s lips twitched. “No, you must not do that. I shall see that you are given a bell.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if you brought me my laudanum yourself, Miss Cecily,” Jack suggested, doing his best to maintain a look of innocence. “That is, I would not trust the servants with it if I were you.”

  “Ah,” Cecily said, with the hint of a smile about her lips. “I admit that had not occurred to me. I shall have to think it over. Mrs. Selby could be trusted to bring it, however.”

  Jack tried to sit up in protest, and then cursed his impulsiveness as his leg constricted in pain.

  “Mr. Henley!” Cecily cried, hurrying back to his side. “You must be more careful!”

  Jack spoke through gritted teeth, “It is just that I should not like to inconvenience Mrs. Selby. I should not feel right to know I had disrupted Sir Waldo’s household.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Cecily agreed quickly. “I shall bring your laudanum to you myself. Twice a day,” she assured him.

  Jack had not planned this particular ruse, but it had been very effective.

  When the pain in his leg had subsided again, Cecily moved towards the door. “Oh, Mr. Henley,” she said, turning before leaving, “were you ever in an acting troupe, or were your parents actors?”

  Jack started in amazement. “Actors? Certainly not. Why?”

  She smiled. “I just wondered . . . from something you said, but . . . never mind.” She gave him another secretive smile and then closed the door behind her.

  “Actors . . .” Jack said to himself. His mind was beginning to fog over from the combination of laudanum and ale, and the fullness of his stomach was inducing sleep. Why should she think he was an actor? That was worse than being thought a coachman! He frowned, his eyes closed. What could he have said to make her suspect something like that? Confound it! What had he said yesterday?

  * * * *

  The question continued to plague Jack in his dreams. But the following three weeks were a greater trial, as he spent the main part of his days in unrelieved solitude. He was well fed and made as comfortable as could be, but there was little he could do to combat the boredom. The highlights of his days were the two visits from Cecily, morning and evening, when she would bring his medicine. Jack did his best to prolong these visits, thinking up excuses to keep her there as long as possible. And he did not tell her when the pain in his leg stopped requiring the use of laudanum. He simply held the glass until she left the room, then poured its contents into his chamber pot.

  Once Cecily suggested again that Mrs. Selby could take over the duty of bringing his medicine, but Jack protested vehemently that he was quite afraid of Mrs. Selby.

  “She has taken me into an unaccountable dislike, Miss Cecily,” he said plaintively. “I’m afraid she might try to poison me.” Some time since, Jack had conveniently forgotten to use Cecily’s surname and had adopted the style of address used by her grandfather’s retainers. She had not bothered to correct him.

  “Poison you, Mr. Henley! I assure you, she would do nothing of the kind! You cannot be quite rational if you can imagine such a thing.”

  Jack feigned innocence, though his blue eyes danced with merriment. He would have liked to say how much her visits meant to him, and how much he looked forward to them. But he had not forgotten the one time he had overstepped his bounds when speaking to her on the mail. Her look of reproach had stayed with him, and he would not like to see it repeated.

  “That must be it,” he said, putting his hand to his brow. “I must be feverish. But please don’t leave me to Mrs. Selby. The fright would not be good for a man in my condition. Who knows what I might not do?”

  For a moment he was certain that she had seen through his ruse, but if she had, she disguised her mirth with a hasty cough and rose to leave.

  “Very well, then, Mr. Henley. I shall continue to bring your medicine myself, although I cannot think you will be requiring it much longer.” She ignored Jack’s sheepish grin and continued, “But you must be quite bored with nothing to do all day but stare at the walls. It is too bad you do not read.”

  “Read?” Jack said. He had not liked to ask for books, knowing it would be a most peculiar request, coming from a servant of the road.

  At the eager sound of his tone, she gave him an inquisitive look. “Do you mean to say you are a reading man, Mr. Henley?”

  Jack flushed uncomfortably. “Yes, of course. That is, I know my letters, and I . . . Yes, I am,” he finished lamely.

  “Well,” Cecily said, evidently very much surprised. “Then I shall see about sending you up some books to read. That will be much better tha
n having you fret with boredom. You might get up to mischief, and we mustn’t have that leg injured again now, must we?”

  Something in her voice made Jack look at her suspiciously, but her manner was simply that of an efficient nurse. He thanked her very humbly.

  The books were soon sent up, and they came as quite a relief to Jack, though he was still unaccustomed to such little activity. In some ways he would have preferred to be back on the box, driving the mail. But, at the same time, he knew that returning to his job would mean losing Cecily’s companionship entirely. And he had discovered that there was much pleasure to be derived from the company of a pert young lady.

  Chapter Six

  Reflections about the lady of the house had begun to occupy his mind excessively, when he was surprised one day by a visit. It was midmorning, not Cecily’s customary time to look in. She knocked and entered, accompanied by an elderly manservant carrying a crutch.

  “Good morning again, Mr. Henley,” she greeted him. “I have come to request a favour. My grandfather has been waiting to have a chat with you and I thought, if you were feeling up to it, you might like to come along to his room right now.”

  Jack sat up quickly. “I should be delighted, Miss Cecily—er, Miss Wolverton,” he corrected himself, seeing the frown on the servant’s face. “I cannot promise to make it there on my own, but I shall do my best.”

  “I’ve brought Selby to help you,” she said. “You must not hurt yourself again. You can lean on his arm and use the crutch to keep your leg from touching down. I have already spoken to the doctor and he said you might try getting up and about if you’re careful not to put any weight on your injured limb.”

  Jack eagerly reached for the crutch and rose, putting his weight on his good foot, only to waver as dizziness threatened to overcome him. He chuckled with embarrassment. “I am as weak as a newborn, Miss Wolverton. I hope I shall not disgrace myself in front of your grandfather.”

  He was even more concerned about falling on his face in front of her, but she put out a hand to steady him and the feel of her hand on his back buoyed him considerably. “Please do not undertake the visit, if you are not able,” she said. He liked the note of concern in her voice.