“And what if I do not, my lord? It is my insurance. I doubt you’ll let me starve if I keep that by me.”
Alfred’s voice was full of venom as he responded, “Why, you leech! I’ll not let you bleed me ‘til I’m dry. I’d rather die than suffer the worry you’ve caused me one minute longer.”
The valet was unmoved. “There doesn’t seem to be much you can do about it though, does there, my lord? I imagine you shall just have to get used to it.”
“Why, you damned—!” Alfred started forward, and Jack could suddenly see the gleam of moonlight on the object he held in his hand. He leaped from his hiding place, making a grab for Alfred’s arm, but not before a shot rang out.
As he grappled with Alfred, Jack heard a cry from Sudbury and saw him drop to the ground. Alfred was whimpering in terror from the shock of being caught in the violent act, and although he struggled for a moment, he was easily subdued. Before more than a few seconds had passed, Jack was standing over him, holding the gun and catching his breath.
“Now you’ve done it, my lord,” he said, moving cautiously towards Sudbury, who was lying a few paces away. “At this point, you’d better hope that the worst charge you’ll be called up for will not be murder.” He ignored the cowered baron’s feeble protests and stooped to examine Sudbury’s wound. The light was poor, but he could make out that it was merely a surface wound, near the elbow. Despite the evident bleeding and the valet’s swoon, his breathing seemed normal.
“It appears that you were lucky,” he informed Alfred, secretly relieved not to have a corpse to deal with. “It’s no more than a fleabite. He ought to be waking in a moment and able to tell us where that will is.”
Alfred stopped his whining and sat up hopefully. “Do you mean to help me get it back? There are two of us now, and only one of him. Together, we ought to be able to make him tell us where it is. He has lodgings in Lombard Street--I’ve had him followed there. I can lead you to them if you will help me make him tell us where the will is!”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “And then what, my lord?”
Alfred’s eagerness revolted him. “I’ll make it worth your while! Say, fifty pounds! You’re a gentleman! You understand how this villain’s been hounding me.”
“But what about him?” Jack asked, jerking the pistol in Sudbury’s direction. “Won’t he talk a blue streak when we’ve let him go?” He wanted to know just how far Alfred’s villainy would carry him.
But Cecily’s cousin was all done in. He moaned, “I don’t know what to do. I suppose we ought to kill him, but I cannot be involved in that. You’ll have to do it if you want to. This night’s work has knocked me up.”
Jack could not keep the sneer out of his voice, as he said, “No, thank you, my lord. Killing’s not to my taste. I only wanted to see how desperate this business had made you. I am not in it for myself. It’s Miss Wolverton I’m here for. After your servant revives, you’ll both accompany me to London, as you said. We’ll recover the will, and I’ll bring it back to her.”
“Oh, God!” Alfred said in heartfelt despair, but he did not protest further.
It seemed to Jack that his desire to have the horrible business at an end was even greater than his wish to keep the money. Nevertheless, Jack kept a careful eye on his prisoner until Sudbury awoke, and then made Alfred bind the valet’s wound while he watched. The dazed valet was made aware of their plan and was too overcome from the fright he had just experienced to object.
Together, the three men slowly made their way to the stables to borrow Sir Waldo’s carriage for the journey to London.
Chapter Fourteen
Cecily had gone to her bed the night before with a heavy heart. Her thoughts had all been for Jack and the unhappy conclusion of their newly formed attachment. She had fallen into a troubled sleep. But the next morning, Cecily was alarmed to discover that both of Sir Waldo’s guests had disappeared.
At first wakening, she knew nothing of this, but when it became clear that neither Jack nor Alfred had come down to breakfast, she began to question the servants. The footman, who’d been assigned the task of attending them, responded that he had not been called to either gentleman’s room. Nor, she discovered, had Selby been summoned by either.
It was only after ascertaining this that Cecily instructed the elderly servant to look in both bedrooms, where he found that neither of their beds had been used. Their clothes were still hanging in the wardrobes, and nothing in the rooms had been disturbed. But a careful search of their belongings suggested that they had both been dressed to go out. To add to Cecily’s discomfort, the head groom came up from the stables to report that one of the carriages was missing along with two of Sir Waldo’s best horses.
Cecily went instantly to speak to her grandfather, but Sir Waldo received the news more calmly than she.
“So, Alfred and Sudbury must have had their meeting last night,” he said, nodding with satisfaction. “Then we ought to be hearing something soon.”
“But Grandpapa!” Cecily protested. “How can we know anything? Jack might be hurt! He did not say anything to us about leaving. And where is Sudbury? Remember there were two of them, and Jack is only one, and limping besides. I cannot receive this news without the greatest anxiety on his behalf. And I insist on sending John down to the village to see whether they’ve made an appearance.”
Sir Waldo tried to discourage her from interfering in Jack’s management of the business, but Cecily reminded him with asperity that the matter was entirely her affair, and it was Jack who was taking it on with absolutely no right to do so. Indeed, she was so worried about him that she had become illogically angry with him for involving himself in such an unsavoury intrigue.
John, the footman, was duly sent down to the village to make inquiries at the Rose and Crown, but returned soon thereafter, having learned that Mr. Sudbury had flown the inn as well. He too, it seemed, had left his belongings, which Mr. Rose intended to impound in lieu of payment. This information did nothing to calm Cecily’s nerves, for she could only imagine the horror of Jack’s setting off with two ruffians. Although she would not have thought of using the term in connection with her cousin or his valet before, now it did not seem so ludicrous.
But she had to agree with Sir Waldo in the end. There was nothing they could do until at least one of the men returned or was heard from. The day stretched long and uneasy before Cecily, as she tried to occupy herself with her usual pursuits. Her troubled sleep the night before did not help. She had not feared for Jack’s safety then, but the long hours spent worrying revealed to her what she had always suspected.
Cecily now knew that her heart had completely surrendered itself to Jack. She loved him as she had never hoped to love. And for the past few weeks, she had grown in the knowledge that he returned her regard, had become so confident of it, in fact, that her future had seemed secure. Then his impossible scruples had arisen to destroy that feeling of well-being. Jack had made her know, just as clearly as if he had said it, that he would not claim her hand until his own fortune was restored. And he had appeared so hopeless as to give her doubt of that event’s ever occurring.
Cecily despaired of making a proud young man see the folly of his pride. She despaired of her own happiness. After all, she could not insist that Jack take her now, poor as he was. She had humbled herself enough in making it clear that she would have him, no matter what the circumstances. She knew Jack’s pride would punish him if he allowed his pity for her to overcome his scruples. And eventually she would be the one to suffer. Might he not grow to hate the person who had made him feel less a man than he wanted to think himself?
Cecily even began to have doubts that Jack had any affection for her at all. Perhaps he had been indulging in a pleasant flirtation while he convalesced, not realizing the damage he was doing to her heart. But, in truth, she could not deny his affection for her. Neither could she be certain of its being deep enough to withstand the passing of time.
Cecily intended to wai
t. Whether her fortune was restored or not—and she began almost not to wish for it—she intended to stay with Sir Waldo until Jack could return for her. If he did not, then she would have to deal with her sorrow as it came.
It was with this resolution that she continued to wait and hope for word of Jack’s safety. But the afternoon only served to increase her fears. The gardener hastened to the house to tell her in tones of great perturbation that he had discovered blood, great quantities of blood, in a pool in the summerhouse. The groom was sent to confirm this finding, and returned to assure her most soberly of its verity.
“Blood it is, Miss Cecily,” he said grimly, “though you mustn’t think that it’s as much as that fool Bob would have you believe.” Then he added portentously, “But while I was takin’ the time to make sure, I took the liberty of havin’ a look round and I found this embedded in the wall behind the summerhouse.”
Cecily took the object he held in his hand and discovered it was a small nugget of lead. She looked up at the groom in sudden illumination, and he nodded grimly at the sight of her alarm. “That’s right, Miss Cecily. That’s spent shot, or my name’s not Peter Green.”
As soon as this bit of news was circulated, other evidence poured in. It seemed that many of the servants could claim to having had their sleep disturbed by the sound of a shot, but they had all dismissed it at the time as an errant clap of thunder. Now they were equally certain they had heard a shot coming from the summerhouse.
In great distress Cecily related all this to her grandfather, who listened gravely throughout. “Well, then,” he concluded, “we shall either learn that one of the villains has been wounded, or I shall have to start an inquiry.”
“Oh, yes! Immediately!” urged Cecily. “You must send for the runners at once. They must be found!”
“Now wait just one moment, Cecy,” said Sir Waldo. “There is no need to fly up into the boughs. We can afford to wait another day, at least. Let’s give Jack a chance to do his work.”
“But, Grandpapa!” Cecily protested. “How do we know that it wasn’t Jack who was wounded?”
Her voice was unsteady. Sir Waldo, who had been somewhat uncertain of her feelings until now, began to realize there was more to her distress than simply a sense of her own responsibility.
“There, there now, Cecy,” he said in a soothing tone, while patting her hand. “There is no need for you to fret for Jack. He’s a match for those two popinjays. And besides, our Jack is a clever boy with a clear command of the situation. He would no more brangle with those two ingrates than I would, given half the chance.”
But Cecily drew small comfort from these words. The bloodstain in the summerhouse, the evidence of a gunshot, and the disappearance of the three men all said one thing to her: that Jack had been murdered and carried away by the others. What could be more probable than that Jack had been discovered while listening to their conversation. One of the men had shot him—she could not imagine Alfred’s shooting a pistol, so she assigned Sudbury this role—and the two men had fled to avoid being captured. She blamed herself for allowing him to become involved in her affairs. Her fortune was a curse, and the attempt to recover it had led to misery. But no matter how hard she pled, Sir Waldo would not consent to send for the Bow Street runners. He persisted in thinking Jack fully in command, despite her repeated reminders of his weakened leg.
As the day wore on, Cecily could not bring herself to stir from her grandfather’s side. She dreaded the news to come, and she wanted to be near him when it did.
It was in this state of mind that she sat by his bed that evening, pretending to put stitches in her needlepoint. Sir Waldo, to tell the truth, had himself begun to fidget, thinking that if Jack were really all right, he would have sent word to them by now. He watched his niece silently, noting the pallor in her cheeks and not deceived in the least by the bending of her head over her work. Leto must have sensed that all was not right, for she raised her head occasionally from the hearth to emit a pitiful whine. Having had enough of this atmosphere, Sir Waldo was about to open his mouth to agree to sending out the alarm, when the sound of coach wheels in the drive stopped him.
Cecily’s head jerked up and her eyes questioned him. He nodded grimly.
“There, now,” he said. “We’ll find out what’s happened before too long.”
Cecily rose to her feet and tried to peer out the window, but the night was too dark to reveal anything. Then she tried to resume sitting, but it was of no use. The day-long wait had been too demanding and her nerves were overwrought. She could not stand another moment of uncertainty.
Starting up again, she said quickly, “I will just go see if that’s Jack and bring him here to you,” and she was out of the door in a second. She picked up her skirts and flew down the hall to the stairs, just as Jack reached the landing. Cecily quickly cupped her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, as grateful tears filled her eyes.
To Jack, after the long night and day of driving to London and back, and the ordeal of dealing with two scoundrels, the sight of his love weeping in distress was too much. He bounded up the remaining stairs, oblivious of the shaking in his leg, and scooped her into his arms.
“Why, Cecily! Dearest love! What is it?” he cried into her hair. She did not respond at once, other than to put her arms about him and hold him as if her life depended upon it. Then, in a confusion of mumbles and sniffs, describing all the evidence that had pointed to his demise, she confessed the extent of her worries.
The only answer Jack could produce was a laugh. He drew her closer to him before planting a firm kiss on her lips. “So you thought I was dead and gone, did you? Well, I am sorry. I never considered that. I was just anxious to attend to the business and get back to you as soon as possible, and I did not think that waking the household to announce my intentions would meet with much approval. But I thought you would guess that I had discovered the truth and had gone in confirmation of it.”
Cecily raised her face to his with an unspoken question. Jack looked down at her and tenderly brushed a lock of her hair from her brow. “Yes, love. I have found the will.” Suddenly he remembered his resolve and inwardly cursed himself for his moment of weakness. But it was too late. He had given himself away.
He bent down and gave her one last kiss upon the lips. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away from their tempting sweetness. “We had better go in to your grandfather now,” he said grimly. “He will want to hear this as well.” He removed his arms from about her and extended one hand instead. After one doubtful, disturbing look, Cecily took it, and the two of them went to join Sir Waldo in his rooms.
Sir Waldo was in a fret by the time they entered, but the sight of Jack was enough to draw from him an enormous sigh of relief. He glanced once at Cecily and saw the confused emotions written on her face, but his eagerness to learn the story caused him to put these aside for the moment. Leto wagged her tail furiously.
“So it was you clattering up the drive,” Sir Waldo said, by way of a greeting. “I’ll admit you had me worried for a bit. I was about to give in to Cecily and send word to Bow Street.”
Jack chuckled, but allowed his eyes to stray to Cecily regretfully. “I’m sorry, sir. I had no thought of causing you any concern. I knew you would be anxious to have this affair settled as soon as possible.”
At these words, Sir Waldo began to question him eagerly, and Jack filled them in on the events in the summerhouse.
“So Sudbury had the will,” Sir Waldo said, resting back against his pillows with a grunt of astonishment. “To tell you the truth, I had my doubts you would find anything so important. I thought Alfred would have had the sense to do away with it as soon as possible.”
Jack agreed. “I am certain he would have, if he had ever got his hands on it. But Sudbury must have formed his own plans before they ever left Stourport. He never handed the will over to his master, and the blackmail began as soon as Alfred got back to London.”
“I remember,” put in Cecily, “t
hat Alfred sent Sudbury ahead with his things. They did not travel together on that occasion.”
Jack turned to her and said grimly, “That was Alfred’s plan. His only thought at that moment was to get the will safely off your father’s property. He did not realize he was giving Sudbury a chance to cheat him.”
Sir Waldo snorted. “The only comfort I can get from this episode is the image of the weasely Alfred, done out of his fortune by an unscrupulous servant.”
Jack went on to describe for them his adventures of the night and morning. It had taken the two of them to get Sudbury up the stairs to his lodgings, and considerable effort to make him divulge the whereabouts of the will. “By the time we reached London, he had recovered enough from his fright to begin his denials all over again. I had to resort to my own brand of persuasion, while Alfred assisted by holding the smelling salts under his nose.”
Sir Waldo gave a reluctant sniff of laughter. “Most gratifying sight, I’m sure. It must have humiliated the dandy immensely to be in waiting on his servant.”
Jack did not smile. “Well, whatever his feelings, it did produce this.” He put his hand inside his jacket and drew out a wad of papers. Then, gravely, he presented them to Cecily.
She took them, but did not open them, giving Jack instead a look which spoke volumes. Quietly, she moved to Sir Waldo’s side and handed him the packet.
“Our thanks to you, my boy,” said Sir Waldo, clearly moved. “I cannot begin to tell you what this means to both of us. I can go to my grave now, knowing that Cecily will be taken care of.”
Jack refused to allow Sir Waldo to stay in such a serious mood. “There’s no need to think of that yet, sir. I made some other arrangements that you might not wish to thank me for.”
“Oh?” The older man’s brow furrowed.
“It’s about Alfred,” began Jack. “Cecily,” he said, turning to her with an apology. “I hope you will forgive me, but I took the liberty of making some suggestions on your behalf.”
Jack on the Box Page 15