Jack on the Box

by Patricia Wynn

  “I would be delighted,” said Jack, rising quickly to his good leg. “But this evening . . . shall we be dining in his room, or . . .”

  Cecily paused. “I had not thought of that,” she said. Then she sighed. “No. At least, I cannot. I shall have to entertain Alfred downstairs!”

  “Then I shall come down, too,” Jack said quickly.

  Cecily gave a smile of relief and then noticed his clothes. She could not help but laugh. “I cannot wait to see Alfred’s face when he learns that he is to dine with a coachman. My cousin,” she explained, “is not the broadest in his views.”

  Jack’s eyes lit with mischief. “Then it shall be my pleasure to enlighten him,” he said.

  Cecily went off to her grandfather’s room with a lighter heart, and her confident mood was of great help in convincing Sir Waldo that he had no reason to worry. She told him that she and Jack would have to dine without him that evening, and she managed to amuse him with the picture Alfred and Jack would make at the table together.

  When she had done, Sir Waldo sighed and patted her hand. “I cannot like it, Cecily. What the blazes does the fellow mean, coming here like this? If Jack weren’t here to lend his presence, I should have the fellow thrown out—Lord Stourport or not!”

  Cecily hastened to comfort him, but her cheeks were suddenly filled with warmth. “Indeed you should, but as you say, with Jack here there is no need. I shall have sufficient company so that Alfred cannot pass off any of his tricks on me. Jack has already assured me of his wish to be helpful.” She spoke these last words self-consciously.

  Her grandfather looked at her sharply. “In your confidence, is he? Good. I like the young man. If I were young and fit as he is, I’d . . .” He did not finish, but his shrewd eyes took in Cecily’s confusion with a gleam of contentment.

  * * * *

  A little while later, Jack was shown into the room. Cecily had departed in order to see that dinner would be ordered for three persons downstairs.

  Sir Waldo looked him over with a thorough scrutiny, while Jack waited for him to speak. This went on for some minutes, before the younger man showed signs of amusement at this treatment and directed an inquiring look at Sir Waldo.

  It recalled the old man to the present. “Jack, my boy,” he said, and his eyes held excitement. “There is something I have to tell you.”

  As Jack listened earnestly, Sir Waldo recounted to him the circumstances surrounding his son’s missing will. Then, with only a slight pause he continued, “Now what I am about to say to you must remain strictly between us. You know that I’m as good as a cripple. Been lying here stiff as a board for nigh on two years with little to amuse me but Leto here—” he gave her a pat “—and Selby’s sour face. I’ve got my books, but I know ‘em all by heart, so there’s nothing new in that. Cecily’s my only joy.”

  Jack watched him silently, his heart giving a leap.

  Sir Waldo continued, staring grimly into his eyes. “If there is anything I won’t stand for, it is for her to be harmed in any way.”

  Jack returned his stare, letting his silence speak for itself.

  After a while, seemingly satisfied with his response, Sir Waldo reverted to his former manner and said excitedly, “I’ve done quite a lot of thinking while I’ve been lying here. And it seems to me there’s just one possibility.” He paused. “Alfred must have done away with the will.”

  “Have you any proof?” Jack asked him quickly.

  Sighing, the old man shook his head. “No, but I’d swear to it.” He explained his reasons for thinking Cecily’s father never intended to leave her homeless, adding, “And who stood to benefit by it all if not Alfred? He took all she had. And except for a few words of regret at the start of the legal proceedings, he’s done nothing to make it up to her. Not a penny’s allowance in all this time. But it’s how he did it that I can’t make out.”

  “Was the possibility looked into at the time?”

  Sir Waldo snorted. “Barely. They wouldn’t want to offend the new lord then, would they? All they could reasonably do was search the premises, ask the servants a few questions. Alfred’s smarter than that. If he did do away with it, you can be sure it was nowhere the solicitors could find it.

  “And what’s he here for now?” Sir Waldo continued. “There is no reason for Alfred to have any more to do with Cecily. None whatsoever. The only interest he could possibly have in her at this point would be if the will were somehow found. Then, of course, he would have much to lose. But if that’s a possibility, then he must not have it himself, for he would most certainly destroy it, and I refuse to believe he did not have something to do with its disappearance! “

  Jack was frowning. “From what both you and Miss Wolverton have to say about him, he seems a likely suspect. It puzzles me that your son did not take greater steps to exclude him from the inheritance.”

  Sir Waldo snorted again. “Stephen had his odd ways. I’m sure he thought he had taken care of everything in his will, and that it was safe. Alfred’s father was just such an unsavoury fellow, you see. To my mind that’s why the patent was written so as to pass the title to Cecily’s mother. Her father was trying to keep it from passing to his younger brother’s family.”

  “Well, it is certainly a mystery,” Jack agreed, shaking his head. “Thank you for your confidence, Sir Waldo. I assure you it has been well placed. I doubt that I could find anything to confirm your suspicions, but if anything occurs to me, I will notify you directly. Meanwhile, do not fear for Ce— for Miss Wolverton,” he amended quickly. “I will take care she is not bothered by her cousin while he is here.”

  “Good lad!” Sir Waldo said. He had not missed Jack’s slip of the tongue, but found nothing to censure in it. If the boy were taken with his granddaughter, so much the better. He hated to think of Cecily all alone when he would be gone, but he could do little to play at matchmaker. Now, it seemed, he had been landed the perfect choice, by an accident of the Royal Mail. He just hoped Cecily would agree with him. Surely there had been a strange bit of colour in her cheeks today. And Jack: would he really be willing—or able—to help his granddaughter out of this bumblebroth?

  Chapter Nine

  Now Jack had several reasons to attend dinner downstairs with Cecily and her cousin Alfred. At precisely the appointed hour, dressed in his coachman’s clothes, he made his way to the dining room. The servants were used to his mode of dressing now, and found nothing strange to say about it. Mr. Selby could not think it proper, it was true. But his clothes notwithstanding, Mr. Selby had to admit the young gentleman’s presence had caused a favourable improvement in Sir Waldo’s spirits of late. Mrs. Selby, too, had noticed some recent changes in her mistress’s behaviour. She was more likely to sing while she worked. So, even if they had their own objections to the young man—he was, after all, not quite what one was used to—they kept them to themselves. And when they pitted him against Lord Stourport . . . well, there was nothing more to be said.

  When Jack entered the dining room, it was to find Alfred waiting impatiently. He was dressed in the extreme of Town fashion. His evening coat was blue and double-breasted, and bore a double row of large brass buttons. His breeches were elegantly tied at the knees, and his stockings were spotlessly white. As Jack entered, Alfred let out a slight cry and raised a quizzing glass to his eye.

  “My good fellow,” he drawled. “You have obviously mistaken your entrance. The kitchen is round the back.”

  “You must apologize to my guest, Alfred.” Cecily’s voice came quickly from the doorway. She had arrived just after Jack and was in time to hear Alfred’s remark. She presented Jack to her cousin, and he made a slight bow.

  Cecily herself had decided not to dress elaborately for the evening. She would rather, she had decided, appear to disadvantage than to make Jack feel more uncomfortable because of his clothes. Therefore, she had worn a plain, white muslin gown, suitable enough for evening, but without any adornment. A fringed tunic in brown silk protected her
from the chill.

  “Your guest?” Alfred inquired, still quizzing Jack with his glass. His examination transferred to Cecily and took in the simplicity of her costume. “How novel, my dear Cecily. Since when has it become fashionable for one to invite common labourers to one’s dinner parties?”

  Cecily’s eyes sparked in anger, but Jack calmed her with a good-humoured glance. “You are mistaken, Alfred,” she said through clenched teeth. “Mr. Henley is the only son of Sir Geoffrey Henley.”

  Alfred was unabashed. “May I suggest then, my good fellow,” he said maliciously, “that you find a new tailor?”

  Here Jack, seeing that Cecily had grown speechless with anger, stepped into the breach.

  “You will naturally find my dress queer for the occasion,” he allowed. “But you see, I had a coaching accident, and my limb is so swollen that my own breeches will not fit over it.”

  “Then you had much better have some made to the purpose,” Alfred said. “I, for one, should never think of appearing in public in such togs. One could easily mistake you for the coachman! I’m certain I did.”

  There was a moment’s silence in the room. Jack, despite his intention to remain in good humour, could find no answer to this slur. If Cecily had not been there, he would gladly have admitted to being a coachman and challenged Alfred for his offensive remarks. But Jack perceived suddenly what an embarrassment it would be for Cecily for any of her family or friends to know that she had dined with a mail coachman. He swallowed the retort that sprang to his lips.

  Cecily, for her part, was only bothered by Alfred’s poor manners, and was unwilling to expose Jack to it any longer than necessary. She begged them to take their places for dinner, and hastily changed the subject

  But it was not long before Alfred had turned the conversation back to Jack. He had been observing Jack and Cecily through narrowed eyes, and had not missed the looks exchanged between them. That he was disturbed by Jack’s presence was evident.

  “I do not believe you told me, Cousin, just how your injured friend came to be here.” Turning to Jack, he asked, “Were you visiting Sir Waldo when the accident occurred, or had you other business?”

  Jack gave him a direct look. “Neither,” he said. “I was riding through town on the mail when the axle broke. Sir Waldo and Miss Wolverton were kind enough to take me in until my leg should heal.”

  Alfred raised his quizzing glass again and regarded Cecily. “How noble of you, Cousin, to take in a complete stranger off the mail. He might have been anybody. I have often observed that the most peculiar mixture of humanity travels upon it. I have never had the pleasure myself, you understand. I really could not relish the thought of being at such close quarters with persons of questionable background.”

  “Really, Alfred?” Cecily observed with great pleasure. “I had reason to take the mail quite recently and found it a delightful experience. You must try it sometime. It will do you a world of good.” She exchanged a secret glance with Jack, whose eyes danced warmly back at her.

  Alfred was not pleased with her quick defence of her guest. “You must count yourself fortunate, Mr. Henley, for I observe you have been as well received as I was myself. And I, of course, am a blood relative.”

  Cecily flushed uncomfortably. Alfred’s remarks had been made with just enough malice to encourage her guilt. “Mr. Henley and Sir Waldo share an interest in coaching, Alfred. He has been kind enough to sit with my grandfather on many occasions.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted having spoken them. Alfred smiled disagreeably.

  “You must let me visit your grandpapa’s room, Cecily. I shall be happy to entertain him.”

  “Oh, no!” Cecily protested. Then as Alfred’s eyes narrowed dangerously, she amended, “That is, I don’t care to put you to the trouble, though your offer is very kind. Sir Waldo is rather particular in his interests and as much as he is an old dear, he can be rather difficult. He especially enjoys discussing coaching, and Jack indulges him by the hour. However, I doubt whether stories about Town would entertain him quite so well. He never was one to enjoy the Season, you know, and I shouldn’t like you to feel at a loss.”

  Alfred’s smile turned into an expression of distaste. “It never ceases to amaze me, this fascination with pedestrian trades and common sports. One would think the Romans had all been coachmen the way the drivers are catered to. And the rest of the rabble—cockfighters, boxers and the like—it is more than I can fathom. You, sir,” he said to Jack, “perhaps you can explain it to me if you are a sportsman.”

  Jack would not take offence. He smiled graciously. “I can well understand that a passion for sports would be inexplicable to you,” he said by way of reply.

  Alfred tightened his lips, but remained unruffled. “I will accept that as a compliment,” he said. “I cannot think it worthy of the dignity of a peer to be found engaging in such lowly pursuits.”

  “Perhaps not,” conceded Jack. “Nevertheless, most of them do. Perhaps one has to be born to it.”

  This veiled reference to Alfred’s recent accession was clearly provoking, but Cecily stepped in before her cousin could respond.

  “You do not look well, Alfred,” she said. “I noticed it this afternoon when you arrived. I hope you will get the sleep you require while you are here.”

  Alfred allowed Jack’s remark to drop as a more pressing matter occurred to him. “Thank you, Cousin. I shall. But I must ask you to have your grandfather’s man—Shelby, isn’t it—tend to me while I am here.”

  Cecily looked at him in amazement. “Why Alfred! You do not mean to say you have not brought Sudbury with you!”

  Alfred blanched visibly as she said the name. “No. I have not,” he said shortly. “I had to turn him off. He proved to be the most unsatisfactory of servants. You see,” he added, attempting once again to ingratiate himself with his cousin, “it was not only your father’s servants with whom I have had to be firm.”

  “But Sudbury?” Cecily persisted. “I thought he was essential to your happiness. Why, after the praise I have heard you heap upon him countless times, I cannot imagine your finding fault with him.”

  Alfred looked at her coldly. “Then I shall simply say I was deceived in him.” He shuddered slightly. “If you have quite finished now, I had rather not pass the remainder of the meal in discussions about my personal servants. Mr. Henley will surely not be amused.”

  Cecily pretended not to understand his intended slur on Jack’s mode of dress. “I am terribly sorry, Alfred, but I cannot ask Selby to attend you. He is occupied quite enough with my grandfather. The best I shall be able to do is to ask one of the footmen to assist you.”

  Her cousin looked put out. “Then I shall have to shave myself? Certainly your Selby fellow could spare the time for that much?”

  Cecily shook her head with an exaggerated show of regret. “I’m afraid not. Selby is also at Mr. Henley’s disposal, so he really cannot be expected to do more.”

  Alfred’s pride was clearly offended. He vented his spleen by lifting his quizzing glass to his eye once again and examining Jack thoroughly. The object of his regard was not discomposed. “On that account, perhaps I would do well to dispense with his services.”

  Cecily had not quite finished her meal, but she rose at that remark. “I shall be having tea in the drawing room if you care to join me after your port. Mr. Henley? “

  Jack rose, also, and made his bow to Alfred. “You will excuse me, I hope, Lord Stourport. With this leg of mine I dare not dip too deeply. I will join Miss Wolverton directly.”

  Alfred stared back and forth between them for a moment and then smiled disagreeably. “Of course, dear fellow. Although I will admit I had rather looked forward to a little manly chat. If you have not the stomach for it, however, I quite understand. I shall not tarry.”

  He made this last promise to Cecily, who offered her arm to Jack. The two of them passed slowly from the room.

  “Phew! “ Jack said
, once they were out of earshot. “He is a poisonous creature. I can certainly credit Sir Waldo’s suspicions of him.”

  Cecily turned to him in surprise.

  Jack looked at her apologetically. “Your grandfather confided his thinking to me this afternoon. I hope you do not object. He is quite worried about you, you know, and cannot do anything to help in his present condition. I believe it was a comfort to him to know I would be watching out for you.”

  Cecily flushed, but he could see that she was not really displeased. “No. I do not mind,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “And if, by his suspicions, you mean the theft of my father’s will . . .”

  Jack nodded.

  “Then,” she continued, looking at him directly, “I suppose I share them, although my grandfather and I have never spoken of it. I’ve often wondered if the notion had occurred to him.

  “And I would gladly have told you myself if I did not fear dragging you into our private family matters. They do not concern you, and you must not feel under any obligation to take an interest in them.”

  Jack frowned. “I believe Sir Waldo realizes I am more than simply in his debt.”

  Cecily hastened to amend what she had said. “Of course. Sir Waldo thinks of you as a guest in his house. He has taken to you considerably. It is just,” she said, lowering her eyes, “that you will have to resume your employment once your leg has healed. You will have no time to investigate the matter, even if you were kind enough to wish to do so.”

  Jack was silent. What she had said was true. His leg was healing. Another week, perhaps two, and he would have to return to his work—if the mail would have him. He stifled a sigh. He had to admit he had no desire to take it up again.

  But Cecily interrupted his thoughtful silence. “In any case,” she said, “there is little anyone can do. Unless the will is found, things will have to remain as they are.”