Jack on the Box

by Patricia Wynn

  When she only answered him absently, he realized that something must have affected her strongly.

  Coming right to the point, he said, “Perhaps now you will tell me what is plaguing you.”

  Surprised, she became alert and stopped the horses, saying, “As I said before, it is nothing. I have been quite confined, you know, and I thought a drive would help shake the cobwebs from my head.”

  “Come now,” Jack responded. “You have been confined for more than two months without showing a sign of irritation. Perhaps you’ve been more subdued than when I first met you, but that is to be expected under these conditions. I know you well enough by now to tell when there is something amiss. What’s Alfred done?”

  She shook her head, saying briskly, “There’s no need for you to concern yourself, Mr. Henley. I shall manage Alfred. Now, isn’t that a pretty scene over there?” she asked, making a sweeping gesture with her hand to a wood beyond them.

  “Cecily,” he begged, taking a light hold on her arm and speaking in a soft, coaxing voice. “Did you not say I might help you?”

  She tried to withstand his gentle urging, but it was of little use. Something in his tone caused her to look up, and as her eyes met his, her resistance broke.

  “I ought not to repeat it,” she said, ashamed for her weakness. “But . . . Alfred has just offered for me.”

  Jack’s brows snapped together. “He wants to marry you?” He released her arm suddenly and then asked, “What was your answer?” His eyes searched hers intently, and he saw a rosy hue rise to her cheeks.

  “I refused him, of course.”

  Jack released a slow breath of relief. But he was still angry. “Is there something you have not told me? Did he annoy you?”

  Cecily hastened to deny it, but Jack’s protective attitude seemed to have comforted her. “No, I assure you. His offer was made with propriety. But it was strange,” she added. “He cannot love me, although he tried to suggest otherwise. Alfred has never shown the slightest affection for me. And when I refused, he gave me to understand that he was offering for me to help rectify my unfortunate circumstances.”

  Jack frowned again, but his anger had vanished. “The man’s a fool if that’s the best reason he could give.” He ignored Cecily’s sudden blush and went on, “But do you suppose he means it?”

  Cecily shrugged in a little gesture of helplessness. “I cannot say. If he does, it is a complete change of character. And why should he have waited so long if this had been his intention from the start?”

  Jack mused for a moment. “I wish I knew,” he said. “it seems there is more to this than we know. If only there were some way to find out just what his motives are. Did he accept your refusal? Will he be leaving?”

  Cecily answered with some confusion. “I do not think so. He begged me to think about his proposal. I am afraid I allowed him to think that I would do so, but you see, I was quite anxious to leave the room.”

  Jack smiled grimly. “Then he has more gumption than I gave him credit for. That is not to say I wish him success. But if I were he . . .”

  He stopped, but she seemed compelled to meet his gaze. “Yes?” she asked almost in a whisper.

  Despite all his efforts not to be carried away, at the look on her face Jack’s heart swelled within him and he threw caution to the winds. He ran his finger lightly down her arm from the puff of her sleeve to the elbow and back again. He could almost feel the thrill that coursed through her.

  “I should never give up,” he said. Then, unable to prevent himself from going on, he began hesitantly, “If I were a gentleman again . . . and not a ‘servant of the road’ . . .” He stopped speaking, his eyes scanning hers for a response.

  Cecily could not hide the elation that rose up within her. She lowered her eyelids, but not before Jack saw the excitement in her expression. There was a moment’s quiet. Then, as if she sensed the effort it was taking him not to say more, she took up the reins and began to turn the carriage.

  “What will you do,” she asked brightly, once this was done, “when your father takes you back into the fold?” There was only a slight quiver in her voice to betray her.

  Jack laughed from pure exuberance. “When I am back in the fold? Let me see. I have been thinking about this. I shall first ask my father to give me a chance at managing his estate. He has always done it, you see, and I have had little to apply myself to. But I think, after this experience, he will see that I really must have some occupation.”

  “I see.” Cecily’s dimples deepened approvingly at this notion and she asked, “Do you think you shall like being a gentleman again?”

  Jack chuckled and blurted out, “One eats a damned sight better! Do you remark the difference between the first meal you gave me and the one we had last night?”

  Cecily pouted playfully. “If you mean to complain about your porridge, sir, you shall grossly offend me. I assure you, that had I been certain of your parentage, you would still have been given the same.”

  They carried on like this until Cecily, remembering that Jack had only just begun using his injured leg, turned the horses back into the gate. Jack protested. In truth, he had not noticed any fatigue. The sudden elevation of his spirits had given him a burst of energy and he was eager to resume his activities. The sooner he returned now to his work, the sooner would he achieve his newly found goals.

  That afternoon, he and Cecily met again in Sir Waldo’s room to entertain that gentleman before dinner. There was a gaiety in their laughter that spurred the old man on, and he told his more outrageous stories. A time or two, Jack caught Cecily blushing. But he did not know that it was the warmth of his smile upon her, rather than her grandfather’s words, that had brought the colour to her cheeks.

  * * * *

  Alfred did not leave the manor. For the next week he remained as a nuisance to them all. Cecily tried not to mind him, but it was a constant strain trying to avoid being alone with him, and his surliness to Jack increased as he perceived his cousin’s preference. Mealtimes, above all, were tarnished with the unpleasantness of his tongue, for he grew more and more overt in his dislike for his fellow guest. It was all Cecily could do to prevent a challenge from being exchanged. But Alfred, not really intent upon an exchange of blows with a more athletic specimen, was always careful to give a double meaning to his most offensive remarks.

  Cecily could only marvel at it. Why did he remain when it was patently obvious that she would never accept his offer? He had tried several times to speak to her alone, but Jack was always nearby. He had made himself her shield, and Alfred was repeatedly foiled in his attempts to find her unguarded. When Jack was otherwise occupied, Cecily could easily seek the shelter of her grandfather’s room. And no one could say that her behaviour was inappropriate, for she and Jack behaved with complete propriety. They met in the public rooms, and only the glow in his eyes and the rose in her cheeks betrayed the thoughts that were shared between them.

  The only times they ventured to appear alone together were on their daily walks about the garden. These walks had the sanction of both Doctor Whiting and Sir Waldo, for they were ostensibly made to restore Jack to his proper condition. Alfred might have joined them if he liked, but he had never done so. And certainly, Jack thought, a man in love would have insisted upon it.

  Jack had not spoken of his own feelings. There were times during those lingering walks when he had been tempted to do so—when the smell of a rose as they passed, mixed with the feel of Cecily’s hair brushing close to his shoulder, confused his senses. What had started as a flirtation had become much more. Jack felt that he and Cecily had been drawn together by their similar circumstances, which had formed a fast bond between them. At times, when the temptation to speak was at its greatest, he would have to brace himself and recall the months ahead of him before he could make her an offer. He hoped it would be a question of months, and not years, but he could not be certain, and until he was he did not have the right to speak. He knew, however, that
his eyes had spoken for him, and that hers had given their answer.

  At the end of the sixth week of his convalescence, Jack knew it was time to make ready for his return to the mail. He had not corresponded with the proprietor of the coach since the accident. Davies would have made his report and notified Mr. Waddell at the Castle Hotel in Birmingham. It would be up to Jack to apply to have his old position back. Accordingly, he formed his intention to ask Sir Waldo for the use of his carriage the following day, in order to drive into Hockley Heath to meet the mail.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jack had mentioned nothing of his decision to Cecily, not wishing to hasten his leave of her. The next morning he breakfasted early as usual with both Cecily and Alfred. Alfred had given up his practice of sleeping late of mornings, and when Cecily had commented on it, he had merely observed dryly that the early hour at which one retires in the country must have been the cause. But the early hours and the resulting rest had done nothing to restore Alfred’s pasty complexion. If anything, his pallor had worsened, and both Cecily and Jack disliked the nervousness in his manner. There was a hint of desperation in his eyes, a tendency to jump at the slightest noise—both of which only seemed to increase each day of his stay.

  He was toying with his breakfast, ignoring the conversation going on around him, when the footman brought him a message on a salver.

  “This was delivered to the house by hand this morning, your lordship,” said the servant with a bow. “It was brought up by one of the men from the Rose and Crown.”

  Cecily and Jack watched while Alfred took the note and held it up to inspect through his quizzing glass.

  At the sight of the writing upon it, he blanched and seemed almost to shudder.

  “What is it, Alfred?” Cecily asked. “A message from Stourport? Is there something wrong?” She could not help still having concern for her childhood home.

  Alfred tittered nervously, but his smile held a touch of menace. “Of course not, my dear Cecily. How your mind does turn to Stourport! It would be most touching, were it not for your refusal to do a simple thing which could put your mind at rest about it forever. I wonder you do not recognize it.”

  Cecily ignored the reference to his proposal and said, “But the note, Alfred. Is there anything in it to necessitate your leaving us?” She hoped she did not sound too hopeful.

  “Your concern is most affecting,” Alfred answered with a stiff inclination of the head. “But the matter is much too trivial to annoy you with.”

  As he made these remarks, he seemed to be exercising a great deal of self-control, so Cecily did not press him. Instead, she continued her conversation with Jack, only occasionally addressing a comment to her cousin. When she did, she invariably found that he was not attending. Nor was he making any headway with his meal. He seemed preoccupied, distant, and yet he fidgeted continuously with his fork and napkin. Once, when she had addressed him and received no response, Cecily threw Jack a puzzled look. He answered her with a slight shrug and a raised eyebrow.

  Soon, Jack rose from the table and begged her to excuse him.

  “I have asked to have a word with your grandfather,” he said. “I would like his permission to take a carriage down into the village to meet the mail coach.”

  Cecily’s eyes opened wide with distress and then fell quickly. “Of course,” she said, rather breathlessly. “You must. But there will be no trouble, I am certain. Grandpapa will gladly lend you one of his carriages.” She stood and prepared to accompany him.

  “To the village, you say? Are you going to the village?” Alfred asked suddenly, in a high-pitched squeak. They turned to look at him, both startled by his inexplicable interest.

  “That is correct,” Jack said, frowning. “Is there a commission I might carry out for you?”

  Alfred closed his eyes and shook his head convulsively. “No. Thank you,” he answered. “Cecily, I beg you will excuse me. I find I am not well. I intend to spend the day in bed, and I do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “A very good idea,” Cecily said. “I do not like to mention it again, Alfred, but in truth, you have not looked well since the day you arrived. I have wondered, in fact, why you would choose to go visiting when you are obviously not yourself.”

  “As to that, my dear Cecily, you may ask your own conscience whether it is not in your power to make me feel better,” Alfred answered waspishly. He placed the back of one hand to his forehead. “But for the moment, I am not well enough to discuss it. I shall take my leave of you until this evening.”

  Clutching his message, he made his way from the room, but appeared so feeble that Cecily had to restrain herself from offering him her arm. When she turned to Jack, she found he was barely concealing a smile.

  “Do you suppose he is trying to win you through sympathy?” he asked, when Alfred was out of range. He clearly thought her cousin’s behaviour a pose.

  Cecily could not help smiling, but she shook her head. “I do not think so. What I said to him is true. He has not looked well since he arrived. And that was before I refused him. It is one of the reasons I did not turn him away at the door.”

  Jack shrugged again. “Well,” he said, “it’s a mystery. But I must be off if I am to intercept the mail.”

  Cecily felt a little catch in her throat. She endeavoured to make her voice sound cheerful. “Yes. You must hurry.”

  She accompanied Jack to Sir Waldo’s room and left them together. Then she sought the solitude of her own chamber.

  Sir Waldo frowned as he listened to Jack’s request. He did not give his answer immediately. “When do you suppose your father will be through with this nonsense of his?” he asked instead.

  Jack stiffened. “When he wishes to be,” he replied. His own feelings about his father’s methods had undergone such a material change that he was now of the opinion that the cure prescribed for his profligacy was the most brilliant ever devised. He did not feel Sir Waldo could claim any reason to challenge his father’s judgement.

  But Jack’s stiff reaction had not gone undetected. Sir Waldo snorted once or twice to show his displeasure, but he refrained from commenting further. He gave Jack his permission to use one of his carriages, adjuring him to take care not to overturn it or his leg would be permanently lost. Jack grinned at this unnecessary advice, and was about to leave the room when Sir Waldo called him back.

  “When shall you leave us, my boy?” the old man asked in a subdued voice.

  “In another week, sir,” Jack said gently, stepping to the side of the bed.

  Sir Waldo nodded listlessly. “Not before that jackanapes of a lordship is gone, I hope.”

  Jack frowned deeply. “Not if I can help it, sir. He seems strangely unwilling to move. In fact, he has taken to his bed.”

  Sir Waldo’s ears perked up. “Is that the truth? Sick, is he? Well, I’m glad to hear it. Maybe we can bury him before he causes any more trouble.”

  Jack suppressed a smile. As long as Sir Waldo remained capable of his scurrilous attacks on Alfred, he ought to be all right. “At least, he does not seem to be in any condition to annoy you,” he responded.

  Sir Waldo gripped his hand. “It isn’t me, Jack,” he said, turning a worried countenance up to view. “It’s Cecy I’m worried about. That blackguard’s robbed her of everything that’s hers. I’ve got two thousand pounds I can give her, but that’s all. The rest goes on to my sister Mary’s boy. A good boy, for all that, but he’s not like Cecy.”

  Jack clasped the old man’s hand tightly. He wanted to tell Sir Waldo of his feelings and reassure him that Cecily’s future would be secure, but caution told him that it was still too early. He had not yet won his father’s approval.

  “I wish I could say more,” he finally allowed, “but I hope you know that I will come any time you think Miss Wolverton needs assistance. I count on you to send for me.”

  Sir Waldo lay back and released his hand. “Good lad,” he said with a sigh. “Though it’s not now so much that worries
me. It’s after I’m gone. For she will not call on you, you know. She’s too proud.” He must have sensed the distress he was causing Jack, for he turned to him with a weary grin. “Let us just hope Alfred beats me to the undertaker, shall we?”

  “That’s the spirit, sir.” Jack returned Sir Waldo’s smile and bade him goodbye.

  He left the room, however, not in the greatest of spirits. Sir Waldo’s ill health was a matter of concern to him, for where would Cecily find herself without her grandfather? Jack knew by now that he was head over heels in love with her. And despite his repeated warnings to himself, he had allowed himself to make his feelings known to her. Silently, to be sure, but nonetheless evidently, and he was tolerably certain that those feelings were returned. Cecily’s manner to him had undergone a gradual change from coolness to caution, progressing rapidly to trust. Now her glowing smiles upon seeing him were almost too much for his powers of resistance. If once more he allowed himself to touch her, he would be undone. He could only hope that his own fortune would be restored before Sir Waldo gave up his struggles. He knew he could not ask Cecily to share his life as it was.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Jack pulled up Sir Waldo’s horses before the Rose and Crown. He took a moment to catch his breath before descending from the carriage. The effort to manage the drive without giving his leg too great a jolt had taken more strength than he was now accustomed to using. He had had to hurry too, for the conversation with Sir Waldo had lasted longer than he had anticipated. But he found upon entering the inn that he had arrived in time, for the mail was expected at any minute.

  A bustle of noise and excitement heralded its approach. The ostlers ran about taking up handfuls of harness and prepared to freshen the horses, and Mr. Rose drew two pints at the tap to send out to the men. Jack stood from the chair where he had been waiting and asked for the privilege of carrying them outside. This drew a grin from the good-natured innkeeper, who grandly presented him with the two frothy mugs.