Jack on the Box

by Patricia Wynn

  “Is this your home?” Jack ventured to ask her. “I mean, of course, is this where you live the better part of the year?”

  An unexpected flush rose to her cheeks. “I suppose so . . . yes,” she answered uncertainly. “It was only two months ago—when you drove me here yourself—that I took up residence with my grandfather.”

  “And before that . . .?”

  “I was staying with my aunt near Shipston. You see,” she explained, “it was just two years ago that my father, Lord Stourport, died. My mother has been gone a great deal longer.”

  “I am sorry,” Jack said. Now he began to see. But the name Wolverton still puzzled him. “Sir Waldo was your mother’s father then.”

  “No,” Cecily corrected him quickly. There was something guarded in her manner, but she explained readily enough, “He is my paternal grandfather. My father, you see, assumed my mother’s surname by Royal license when he married her. She was baroness in her own right.” Cecily went on to explain the unusual circumstances of her mother’s inheritance. Then, she paused before adding, “The estate was unentailed.”

  A spark of intelligence stirred Jack’s memory. So that was it. He remembered hearing about her father’s death when he was in London. There was quite a bit of talk about it at the time—something about a missing will. But it had not concerned him, and he had paid it little attention. Before long other topics of conversation had come to take its place.

  Cecily was regarding him with a peculiar look. In it was a measure of anxiety. He decided to be frank with her.

  “Now that you have answered my question, I do remember hearing something about your family,” he admitted. “Your name was familiar, you see, but I did not recall where I had heard it. There was some puzzle surrounding your father’s death, was there not? A missing document or something?”

  She nodded. Jack noticed that she even seemed grateful for the chance to discuss it. “Yes. My father’s will was never found. The estate my parents had amassed by the time of his death was considerable. And although I could not inherit the title—after my mother it was with remainder ‘to heirs general’—the large part of the estate was to have passed to me. My father had informed me of his intention to leave it to me, although there was never any doubt.

  “But his will was never found. The courts supposed it had not been made, but I knew that it had. His solicitors confirmed having drawn one up in my favour. I was to be co-heir to my cousin Alfred. But my father was a bit eccentric when it came to matters of business. He was mistrustful of agents and preferred to keep his papers in his own possession. The will ought to have been among his other documents, but it was not.”

  Cecily related her misfortune in a calm, composed voice, which Jack found more touching than if she had offered him tears. There was hardly anything he could say, but one thought did occur to him.

  He gave her an ironic grin. “Then it seems as if you and I have more than a little in common. We have both been dispossessed—you by an unfortunate mischance, and I by my own folly.”

  Her expression, which had been rather serious, lightened at this, but she asked, “Is there no chance your father will forgive you? You were just a boy, after all.”

  Jack was startled by her words. His misdeeds had been committed only months ago, and yet, he realized, he had been just a boy. He no longer felt like one. The responsibility of employment had done its job. He knew he had learned to be a man. This conviction caused him to respond cheerfully.

  “Oh, I think he will. I am his only child, and we have a great affection for each other. But he is a stern parent. Often I’ve wondered whether, if he had been somewhat less so, I, upon achieving the freedom of London, might have behaved . . .” He broke off, not wishing to make any excuses.

  “But that is not important. I trust that he, at some point, will look at me and see that I have undergone a material conversion to his point of view.”

  Jack finished his speech in such an amusing fashion that Cecily had to smile. They talked about his coaching experiences and Jack told her more of the things that had happened to him on the road, this time not fearful of giving himself away. There had been times on the box when he would dearly have loved to laugh about one of his passengers, but he had not dared. Now it was a great relief to be able to do so.

  He told her of one such occasion, when a particularly belligerent woman had insisted upon displacing a passenger on the rear seat, because, she said, she found his face offensive.

  “She rather reminds me of the red-faced woman who did not like you to take me up, the day I rode with you,” said Cecily laughing. “But I suppose someone always complains when you take up an extra passenger.”

  Jack’s eyes gleamed. He regarded her fixedly. “Oh, but I haven’t. You were the only one.” He took the last bite of his breakfast, all the while watching and waiting for his words to sink in.

  Cecily took only a few seconds to recognize the compliment, but when she did she looked away hastily. He could detect the tremor of a smile at the corner of her lips.

  “Then I must thank you again,” she said breathlessly. “It was fortunate for me that you were the driver that day. I was quite anxious to get to my grandfather.”

  Jack inwardly admonished himself for resuming the flirtation he had intended to renounce. Then he realized that she was about to tell him what he had always wanted to know.

  Cecily’s eyes had flickered up to his and then away again. “You must have thought it strange for a lady to be riding alone on the mail. My grandfather made it plain to you that he did not approve of it. In fact, however, it had something to do with the topic we were just discussing.

  “My cousin Alfred, you see, the present Lord Stourport—” she could not prevent an unaccustomed wryness from creeping into her voice “—had written me his intention of visiting the same day. I thought if I could take the mail, my aunt would be able to say I had missed receiving his message. There was no other means of getting away at my disposal. I hastened down to the village in time to catch the mail, but was disappointed by the man in the booking office. I was rather desperate at the time, otherwise I would not have attempted to bribe you.” At this, Cecily looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her eyes held a sparkle. That memory was particularly entertaining to them both.

  Jack laughed aloud. “I do not hold that against you, Miss Cecily. My honour goes undiminished, as does yours.” He said nothing about her reasons for fleeing, however.

  “Thank you, Mr. Henley,” she said pertly.

  Jack smiled at her engagingly. “Would you not call me Jack? After all, I have been calling you Cecily these many weeks and you have not told me to stop.” He had anticipated that she would be discomposed, as indeed she was. Still, he did not see any harm in the suggestion. He very much wanted to be her friend.

  “Very well. I shall call you Jack,” she said. Shyness, not normally a part of her character, threatened to overcome her. She rose from the table and asked him if he would like her to call the footman.

  Jack would rather not have ended their conversation so quickly, but he obliged her by accepting that the meal was now over. He trusted there would soon be another time when he could talk to her alone. Jack was finding it more and more difficult to deny his desire for a flirtation with Cecily, and the temptation to pursue her was proving to be more than he could resist.

  Chapter Eight

  Cecily had been surprised to see Jack down that morning for breakfast and equally astonished to find herself confiding in him. But the day held more than one unexpected event for her, for before noon a visitor arrived. She was finishing a complete turnout of one of the guest bedrooms, when a servant came running to inform her that Lord Stourport was downstairs asking to see her.

  She received the news in a way that gave the maid no doubt as to her feelings upon the subject. “The devil!” she cried with exasperation. Then recalling to whom she was speaking, she tried to mask her irritation, instructing the girl to show Lord Stourport in
to the parlour. “You may tell my cousin,” she added, “that I shall be down within the hour. I shall have to freshen myself.”

  Cecily took her time washing and dressing again, hoping that Alfred would take the hint and not expect to be asked to dinner. His arrival had startled her. He was not, after all, any kin to Sir Waldo, and until this visit had never set foot in her grandfather’s house. She remembered the peculiar tone of his last letter. This time he had not sent word before calling on her. Had he been more careful, meaning not to give her a chance to slip away? What could he want?

  When Cecily finally joined her cousin Alfred in the parlour, she greeted him with cool civility. He took her hand and bowed over it with exaggerated courtesy, then held it while looking her over with his heavily lidded eyes.

  “A charming gown, my dear Cecily,” he said. “And you look charmingly in it. It quite becomes you.”

  Cecily could not return the compliment, for Alfred did not look at all well. His complexion was a sickly shade of white, he was not well shaved, and his neckcloth was imperfectly pressed. Indeed, his appearance came as something of a shock to her, for Alfred had always been rather a dandy. Any sign of neglect in his toilet was certain to mean he was feeling ill.

  “Won’t you be seated, Alfred,” she said, more kindly than she had intended. “You have quite caught me unprepared for your visit. I hope nothing is wrong at Stourport?”

  Alfred’s eyes glinted sharply for a moment, but he took the chair she offered him and replied languidly, “You have nothing to fear on that account, my dear Cecily. All is well. I have made some slight changes among the servants which I hope will not distress you, but I found my Uncle Stephen’s people to be somewhat lacking . . . in the proper polish, one might say. I am afraid I could not leave things quite as they were. I hope you are not offended.” He said this last with an ingratiating air which Cecily did not trust.

  She managed to answer him with tolerable tranquility, though his implications angered her. “Stourport is yours now, Alfred. How could I be offended by any changes you might care to make?”

  Well Cecily knew the excellence of her father’s servants, but she also knew they had no desire to work for the new baron. Several of them had informed her of their intention of seeking new situations as soon as she should be gone. In fact, she had written several letters of recommendation on their behalf.

  Her answer seemed to satisfy Alfred, for he gave her a feline grin.

  “But you have not told me the purpose of your call,” Cecily reminded him. “Or are you just stopping on your way to somewhere else?”

  Alfred responded with a wounded air. “It is you I have come to see, Cousin. Can you doubt it? Did your aunt not tell you that I wrote of my intention to visit, more than a month ago? Imagine my hurt when I discovered that you had just left her house on the very day of my arrival.”

  There was a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes, and Cecily wondered if Alfred had discovered her means of evading him. “Yes, she did inform me, by post after I arrived here. But my plans were already made, you see. I am sorry you were inconvenienced.”

  Alfred beamed upon her. “So considerate, my dear Cecily. But then you always were a model of feminine virtue.”

  Cecily laughed. “My grandfather would smile to hear you say so, Alfred, remembering my childhood scrapes. I was not such a pattern card then, if you recall. Either your memory is at fault or you must be trying to gammon me!”

  His smile stiffened. He seemed more than usually on edge, shifting back and forth quickly from amusement to irritation. “You must not deprecate yourself, Cecily. It does not become you.”

  She sighed inwardly. It appeared that Alfred was not going to volunteer the purpose of his visit and that she would have to drag it from him.

  “Are there business matters you wish to discuss with me, Alfred?”

  He started, and then waved an impatient hand. “Did I not just say that it is you I have come to see, Cecily? I am here to help you. As soon as I found out where you were—your aunt, you must know, gave me to understand that you had gone visiting, and I did not know your whereabouts. Anyway, as soon as I knew them, I hurried to be with you.”

  Cecily looked at him blankly. He explained. “Your poor grandpapa,” he said in a mournful tone. “To think that you have been down here nursing him, at his bedside as it were, without the support and comfort of another family member nearby . . . . Why, it is most distressing!”

  A moment’s pause, and Cecily laughed.

  Alfred’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly.

  “You must forgive me, Cousin,” she said, “But I had no idea you were under such a misapprehension. I am here by my grandfather’s invitation and by my choice. We get on quite well together, I assure you, and he is not in such a bad way that I feel myself in the least burdened. I have been enjoying myself immensely. So you see, there is not the slightest need for you to trouble yourself.”

  But Alfred, it seemed, would not believe her. “You are too noble, Cousin. I cannot depend on you to be truthful in this circumstance, for I perceive you are trying not to impose upon my good nature. You see, I know you too well. I insist upon being allowed to help you. I will have my things taken to my room, if you please, if you will be kind enough to ask the housekeeper just where I should establish myself for the present.”

  Cecily looked at him in horror. “You do not mean you intend to stay, Alfred!”

  He smiled as though she had intended this as a compliment to him. “Yes, of course. You may indeed be surprised by the degree of my cousinly devotion, but I beg you to consult your own heart on the matter to see whether I might not have another interest in mind. For the present, however, I shall say nothing more on the subject. Will you have the goodness to have that woman—Mrs. Shelby, is it—show me to my room? I find myself desperately in need of a rest.”

  Cecily could not deny such a pointed request. Little as she trusted Alfred, and wanting him there even less, she could see that he indeed needed a rest. “It is Mrs. Selby,” she corrected him. “And I shall ring for her.”

  In a few moments Mrs. Selby had come and, with a poor show of grace, taken Alfred to his room. Cecily sat for a little while longer, gazing at nothing in particular and wearing a frown.

  Alfred’s visit was a puzzle to her. She could not credit his motives. Had he not already taken all that should have been hers? She had nothing left to give him.

  A scraping sound in the corridor jerked her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway. Of its own accord, a smile sprang to her lips.

  “Am I disturbing you, Cecily?” he asked. She did not have to answer for her smile told it all.

  He hobbled into the room in response to her invitation, which gave her the opportunity to watch. She could not help contrasting Jack’s splendid figure with Alfred’s weaker frame. In spite of his having to hobble on one crutch—perhaps even because of it—his firm muscles drew her attention. But he could not be aware of it, for his blue eyes met hers and sparkled with humour.

  “I make quite a sight, I suppose, stumbling into your parlour. Not the sort of guest one’s accustomed to.”

  Cecily could not very well confess what she had been thinking, so she assured him it was of no consequence. He took a seat beside her and heaved a sigh.

  “I must say,” he began, “no number of long hours on the box could make me quite so eager to arrive at my destination as this crutch does. It is a most inferior form of travel.”

  Cecily smiled at his pleasantry, but could not give him her full attention. Her mind was distracted by the knowledge that Alfred was in the house and by her need to know his purpose.

  Jack must have realized that something was bothering her, for he looked at her silently for a moment before saying, “The servants have just informed me that your cousin, Lord Stourport, has come for a visit. Is that what has you so blue-deviled?”

  She started to deny it, but faced with the concern in his expression, could not. �
�Yes,” she admitted finally. “I cannot help but wonder what he’s up to. You see, he’s never been here before, and cannot have a legitimate reason for coming.”

  “What does he say?”

  “That he’s come to help me,” Cecily said in an oozing voice.

  Jack laughed. “And that won’t wash? Well, I suppose you know your cousin better than I, so I’ll take your word for it. What do you suppose his true reasons are?”

  Cecily’s frown redescended. “I do not know. Charity, familial or otherwise, is not in Alfred’s line, so I cannot think he has come to assist me. And he cannot possibly have run through my father’s estate in just six months, so I doubt he is here for money. That does not leave much upon which to speculate.” Then she added, “But I do know that there is something he wants of me.”

  Jack’s smile had faded, too. “He sounds a very pretty fellow. Is there nothing you can do to avoid him? Why not send him about his business?”

  “I ought to, I suppose,” Cecily agreed. “But that would take a degree of incivility I am not accustomed to employing. And besides, I tried that once before and only succeeded in delaying his visit. I must find out at some point what scheme he has in mind.”

  Her companion nodded. “Well,” he said, “I admire you for bearding the lion in his den. Just remember, however, that I am here and willing to be of help whenever you should need it.” He looked at her reassuringly, and Cecily felt a glow of warmth. She suddenly realized how much more confident she felt facing Alfred because Jack was in the house. Once again, she had confided in him without reflecting on the wisdom of it, and without a thought of discretion.

  “Thank you,” she said rising, not wishing to burden him further. “Now I shall have to go inform my grandfather that there is an uninvited guest staying under his roof. He will not like to hear that it is Alfred, so it will take some skill on my part to avoid alarming him. Will you visit him afterwards and help to entertain him?”