Red Jack's Daughter

by Edith Layton

“Duties that can be performed by others for her husband elsewhere, if necessary?” Lord Leith asked mildly.

  “Perhaps,” the blond gentleman said, now looking levelly into his inquisitor’s eyes, “for, as I see it, you’ve Jess in a shop window, like a manikin on display. Oh, she’s lovely all right. Very tempting, in fact. Yet, even if by some magic you get her acquiescence and if you persuaded some besotted fool into wedlock with her, that’s all he’d find in his marriage bed ... a manikin. Now, that’s hardly fair, either to Jess or to the fellow you hope to catch, is it?”

  “But some fellows wouldn’t mind, you think?” Lord Leith asked quietly.

  And just as quietly, Tom Preston replied, “No.”

  The tall gentleman stirred and then lounged back in his chair and asked carefully, “Because of charitable instincts, or in the cause of good fellowship, or”—and here he paused and then added pointedly—“because of other compensations? Such as her father’s legacy?”

  The other gentleman stiffened in insult and rose to his feet as if to conclude the discussion.

  “I think I understand you well enough,” Lord Leith said dismissively, rising to his full length as well, “even though I must tell you I don’t agree, and,” he added with emphasis, looking directly at the other man, “I don’t approve.”

  “But, my Lord,” Tom Preston asked coolly, although his face was rigid with suppressed anger as he looked insolently over the other’s tall form, “why should you protest? You are only participating in this ruse with Jess as a favor to your aunt and to old Ollie, who, if truth be told, only wants to rid himself of the responsibility of her future. You don’t want her; the case is that no one ever did, or will, once they see beyond the facade. And as you have put her up on the market, I cannot see why you cavil when you find yourself with a buyer.”

  “Is ‘buyer’ the right word?” the other gentleman asked musingly. “Now, I had thought of this transaction you suggest more in terms of a donation.”

  “So it’s that I don’t have a feather to fly with,” the blond young man said angrily. “I am candid about it. Why should you care? You stand in no obvious need of compensation. And as for females, you already have the pick of the town. But as to Jess, I can see to her welfare, and I will at least treat her well.”

  “And with loving affection,” Lord Leith said sweetly.

  “Ah, love,” Tom Preston said with a sneer. “What a sentimental fellow you are, my Lord. How many men marry for love? Or women, for that matter? I did not think you a man to dwell on fairy tales. Affection is more than most marriages have.”

  “Yes,” Lord Leith acknowledged, “I see your point, Preston, but still such an arrangement as you suggest would be sort of a half-life, would it not?”

  “No more than for half the population,” the blond gentleman said dismissively. “And if it is affection that is missing in the ‘arrangement’ you are so discreet as to hint at, why, that would be subject to change in time, wouldn’t it? Upon demand, of course,” he added with a mocking smile.

  “But whose demand?” the taller gentleman asked quietly.

  The only answer he received was a slow smile, which turned broader as Jessica reentered the box with Lady Grantham and Sir Selby.

  “Lud,” Jessica said as she dropped into her chair, “what a press of people! And whatever am I to do with all the invitations I have been given? Now, carriage rides through the park might be good sport, and if someone wants to pay a morning call, I can see that might, be pleasant too, but afternoon teas? And sewing circles? And, Lud, that little Miss Protherow invited me to go shopping with her! ‘For bonnets and gloves,’ she said.” Jessica gave out a little laugh. “And when I suggested we have a look around at the new bits of blood at Tattersall’s instead, I thought she’d drop. Although,” Jessica added more soberly, daring a glance over toward Lady Grantham’s wrathful countenance, “I truly did not know females were not admitted there, my Lady, until Ollie told me so. And though the thought sunk me, I agreed to go to the Pantheon bazaar with her to purchase fans and ribbons, someday,” she concluded on a grin.

  Thomas Preston laughed with Jessica and shot one triumphant look toward Lord Leith. But that gentleman only took his seat quietly. Just before the lights dimmed for the farce, Sir Selby noted Jessica casually passing something into Alex’s hand. What he could not see was how, throughout the last of the evening, while the audience was laughing, Lord Leith absently fondled the small objects in his waistcoat pocket. Nor could Lady Grantham know that her antique jade ear bobs lay cool and hard against his breast.

  The gentlemen politely refused refreshments as they saw Lady Grantham and Jessica safely home again. Then each of the party bade the others farewell with a show of amicable good feeling.

  Lady Grantham gave her guest good-night and went off to solace herself with a Minerva Press novel about evil noblemen and endangered young women chasing each other about drafty castles. Sir Selby went home to sink into a steaming hip bath and brood about whether the purchase of a discreet corset might not now, finally, be in order. Thomas Preston tarried for a while at an establishment known as The Coal Hole and after several hot rum punches took himself to another establishment that had no name or sign blazoned over its portals. The young female he tarried with there bore no name either, or at least none that he could recollect in the morning, though he did recall her proportions and her skill with a particularly unique configuration, with a fond smile.

  Lord Leith went directly to Crockfords, where he played lightly and thus did not lose too heavily before he became bored with his turn of luck. Then he strolled to the white town house he so generously supported and soon found himself surrounded by familiar red curtains and furnishings again. It was as much to evade that color as anything else, he later thought, that at an interesting moment he idly requested the red draperies that covered the ceiling mirror be finally drawn back. But it was much as he had suspected. The effect took more from his performance than it aided, since what it inspired in him was, much to his lady’s annoyance, more laughter than lust. And thus it was not long before he was home again, immersed in a hot bath as sedately as his mentor Sir Selby was, but with never a thought to corsets at all.

  Jessica found herself as wakeful as any of the gentlemen, but with no place to go except the length of her room. Had she been home, she would have gone to the kitchens in search of a chicken leg or a biscuit. But being an obedient guest, she dismissed her maid and prepared for bed in her usual fashion. Only in one thing did she deviate from her custom. For a moment, after she had divested herself of her gauzy chemise, she turned and stared steadily at her unclad form in the looking glass. Almost, she began to linger there, but she laughed lightly, threw on her night rail, and shook her head at her own foolishness. Still, somehow, here in London, in Lady Grantham’s stylish chamber, the curving figure that Jessica so briefly reencountered in the glass was not such a stranger. Rather, she thought aimlessly, as she courted sleep with pleasant thoughts of treats that might be in store for her before she went home again, there was a certain sneaking pride in knowing that one could look just as one ought. If one wanted to, that is, she amended. And then she thought of Tom and Ollie and the good times they would share, and thinking of that, she began to slip easily into sleep. It was the thought of Alexander, Lord Leith, that caused her eyes to snap open again. It was the fact that he still held Lady Grantham’s precious ear bobs, of course, that brought his pale face as clearly to her as the face of the full moon that peered through her window. It was that which made her squirm in disquiet at the memory of him, she reasoned, and that which banished sleep for her until the swollen moon had soared up and over her window to sit upon the highest towers of the town.

  8

  The sky was solidly gray and there was a dank, humid feel to the air in Lady Grantham’s salon, but even so Lord Leith said as he took his chair, “It cannot rain forever, three days seems sufficient for any deities’ purpose. Doubtless tomorrow will dawn fine and clear.
So don’t fret, Jessica, for your face is cloudier than the day.”

  “Oh, it’s not just the rain, although I admit it lowers me to be so pent up, it’s that I’m anxious for Mr. Jeffers to arrive and to hear what he has to say. I know,” she said on a sudden smile, “it’s very childish to be so excited, but when we got his message yesterday, I knew I would not be easy till I had spoken with him. Do you think he finally has all the information, Alex? For if he does, I can be on my way again.”

  If he does, Lord Leith thought, looking at the anxious face before him, Ollie will have a spasm, for nothing’s been decided for the chit yet and there’ll be the devil to pay if she decides to just up and leave here. But all he actually said, in a languid tone, was, “We’ll know soon enough. He and Ollie will be here straightaway, and as soon as my esteemed aunt feels she’s dressed correctly, we’ll hear all. Although,” he added, “that may take another week, for Aunt’s ideas of dressing for an occasion, even an occasion as mundane as receiving a visit from a solicitor, are very baroque.”

  Seeing her apparent nervousness as she rose to peer out the window again, he said softly, “There’s no hurrying a thing by worrying, Jessica. Come sit and tell me how you’ve been occupying yourself these past days. I can’t believe that a mere spot of bad weather would stop the redoubtable Miss Eastwood from completing her rounds.”

  Jessica sank down into her chair again and at last laughed. “No, not in the usual way, it wouldn’t. But there’s nothing to do for ladies in London when the weather’s off-key. Oh,” she said quickly, “there are visits to pay and visits to endure, but you know, that’s a dead bore.”

  “A dead bore?” he mimicked. “When Ollie tells me your sitting room’s been clogged with all manner of fellows anxious to make your acquaintance? Why, I hear this chamber’s been graced with the likes of Jeremy Tutton, and Lord Greyville, and even dashing Harry Fabian and his bosom beau Charlie Bryant. Why, I understand the house has been a thicket of young sprigs of fashion, all paying homage to you.”

  “Homage?” she complained. “All they do is sit and goggle, or prate on about all sorts of nonsense. Jeremy Tutton was no wit, Charlie Bryant no chin, and Tom says that Harry Fabian’s in the basket and looking for a wife with a fortune, and Lord Greyville’s in the market for matrimony only because his uncle insists.”

  Lord Leith concealed his distaste and asked offhandedly, “Tom Preston says so? Have you seen much of your old playmate, then?”

  He caught the quick flush that came to her cheek and watched closely as she turned her head aside and answered quickly, “Why, yes. But we had all sorts of other plans, for riding and for sport, but the rain’s put an end to that.”

  She looked very well today, he thought inconsequentially, in a demure white muslin frock, with her hair combed back neatly, almost as an obedient young girl just out of the schoolroom, not at all like the siren her dramatic evening dresses made her appear to be. But there was a certain sadness about her, an air of a lost child that clung to her.

  To lighten her spirits, he asked quietly, “Are you homesick, then, Jessica? For it wouldn’t be extraordinary if you were. This is, after all, your first trip away from home.”

  She looked up at him with a start and then said slowly, “Why, yes, I suppose I am, at that. But not homesick for home precisely.” She laughed in embarrassment and then added, “For there’s no one there to miss, save Ralph, and he’s only a great hound that I’ve had since I was a girl, and it would be foolishness itself to pine for a dog.”

  “Not at all,” he said sincerely, “for when I was first shipped off to school, I found I missed my spaniel Flanders far more than I missed my mama and papa.”

  Jessica turned her full attention to him. It never had occurred to her that this complete, aloof, fully grown fellow had ever been a child capable of devotion to a dog. So there in the rain-dimmed salon she questioned him about his home, and his youth, and his absurd spaniel Flanders. And in return she heard about his late bookish father, his deceased invalid mother, his spendthrift elder brother, and even about his terrier Beaux, who had replaced the lost Flanders.

  The time went by quickly and she was sorry to hear him say finally, in his soft deep voice, “So you see, Jessica, there’s nothing new in feeling the lack of a beloved dog. Although I do agree, Ralph seems rather too large for my aunt’s salon. And I daresay he would find her bed far less a welcome refuge than he would expect.”

  She giggled at the thought of Ralph nesting down on Lady Grantham’s great gilt canopied bed, and at the same time felt gratified at how he understood that Ralph would in all truth probably attempt to do just that. But then, realizing how ungrateful she must sound toward her hostess, who was after all, his own aunt, she added, “But there is a great deal here that is very nice, indeed.” And surprised herself by listing all the inconsequential childish pleasures she had discovered in London, everything from the ease in taking frequent hot baths accompanied by sinfully lavish transparent amber slips of scented soap, to the pleasure of being able to merely stroll to a booksellers, to the ridiculous wonder of discovering gas lights in the streets.

  But he laughed at nothing she mentioned, only shook his head sagely in agreement with her and won her over completely by saying, when she had done, “Still, none of those things quite makes up for the loss of freedom or for the inconvenience of not knowing quite how to go on, do they?”

  “Just so!” she breathed in concurrence and was about to embroider upon that theme when a great bustling at the door signaled that Sir Selby and the solicitor had at last arrived. Jessica went to greet him and for a fleeting moment surprised herself even further by momentarily regretting the arrival she had been awaiting so eagerly, chiefly because it had interrupted so pleasant a conversation.

  They all settled down in the salon again to await Lady Grantham. They made polite desultory conversation and Jessica restrained her impatience, although she eyed the solicitor’s bulging briefcase in much the same way that Ralph might eye a juicy leg of lamb.

  Another fifteen minutes passed before Lady Grantham, at last attired in garb she thought suitable for the occasion, entered the room. After an exchange of nervous pleasantries, Mr. Jeffers, finding every eye upon him and every pleasantry passed, cleared his throat and placed his briefcase upon an end table he had drawn up before him.

  He was a small rotund gray man with a bassetlike wrinkled face and drooping eyes, and he cleared his throat and then asked Jessica, “I take it you have no objection, my dear, to my divulging what I have discovered before your friends? I know Sir Selby is your legal guardian, and though I know Lord Leith and Lady Grantham’s reputation and discretion, I want to make sure you feel they have your confidence.”

  Jessica’s bosom swelled with self-importance and her spirits rose. She nodded acquiescence immediately, for she found her throat too dry to speak.

  Mr. Jeffers extracted a great many papers from his case and perused them quickly while Jessica’s heart thumped so loudly she feared everyone could hear its heavy beat. Lord Leith sighed and thought that the fellow would have been far better suited for a life upon the stage than within law offices. At last Mr. Jeffers put down the papers and spoke to them all.

  “There’s something there,” he said portentously. “I confess I originally had thought not. But I sent out letters of inquiry and received some interesting answers. The sum of it is,” he went on as Lord Leith restrained an impulse to leap up and throttle an answer out of him and Jessica did the same, “that your late father did leave you a legacy, my dear. And one that he makes clear can in no way be considered part of the entail. You see, it must be proven that anything a man leaves to his heirs must be a thing that he has not himself inherited, if he wishes to leave it away from the main estate. Thus your father made it plain that he came into some funds whilst in the service of his country, invested those sums in an object of great virtue, and left it specifically to his daughter.”

  Jessica let out her breath in a sigh so
great it was audible.

  Mr. Jeffers looked up at her again and then said, “But, my dear, there is one catch to it.”

  Even Kean, Lord Leith thought, had never had so rapt an audience as those in the salon who waited upon Mr. Jeffer’s next words.

  “Perhaps out of fear of his legacy being considered part of the entail, perhaps because his life was so untimely cut off, or perhaps because he did not trust his next of kin to do the right thing by his daughter’s legacy, Captain Eastwood left this object in the care of friends ... upon the Continent.”

  Mr. Jeffers sat back after his deliverance with a smug smile upon his face.

  “What is it?” cried Sir Selby while Lady Grantham asked, “Where is it?” and Jessica sat mute as a mouse.

  “As to what it is, I cannot say, as I have not yet seen it,” Mr. Jeffers said slowly. He was about to expound upon this when he caught Lord Leith’s eye. There was so much incipient murder in that cold gray gaze that he hastened to say, “But I do know that it is in safekeeping in the hands of one Corporal MacKenzie, late of His Majesty’s service and now dwelling in Brussels. I shall go there, present the proper papers, collect it, and follow up on certain other inquiries that I have made. And,” he added, now that Lord Leith had withdrawn his intent surveillance and seemed to be totally self-absorbed, “I do have other business to attend to on the Continent for some other clients, so that I can set out within a few days.”

  Jessica at last broke the silence. She sat forward upon her chair, with her hands clasped together and blurted eagerly, “What day, sir? For I shall be ready to leave whenever you say.”

  For the first time, Mr. Jeffers seemed discomposed. He gave Jessica a shocked look and said hastily, “You misunderstood, my dear. There is no need for you to disturb yourself. I have said that I shall leave and see to the acquisition of your legacy almost at once.”

  Jessica’s face assumed a mutinous expression and she said clearly and loudly, “But it is my legacy, and my father who has left it. I can save a great deal of time and effort by accompanying you and collecting it.”