A Scandalous Plan

by Donna Lea Simpson

  He let the subject drop.

  “I wonder if you would like to go into town one day soon, Mr. Martindale. With me. I thought if I introduced you around, it may break the ice a little. Make you more acceptable.”

  He eyed her thoughtfully, drained the last drop from his tankard, and pushed it away. “I do need to speak to Mr. Dartelle. He is acting as my man of business in St. Mark, while I am away from the city. He has some messages for me, I believe.”

  “Shall we say Friday?”

  “Friday it is,” he agreed, wondering at her secretive smile.

  “May I also ask to take Jacob for a ride tomorrow?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t think . . .”

  “I’m perfectly able to care for him. I’ll have Dora come with us, if you like.”

  “Papa, let him go,” Angelica said. “Jacob should see some of the neighborhood as I have. And Lady Theresa knows everyone.”

  A look passed between his daughter and the lady, and James glanced between them uneasily. But he could find no fault with the plan—other than that it was odd for Angelica to come down on the side of any treat for Jacob that didn’t include her—and said, “I suppose, if you take Dora with you.”

  “Good. I’ll call tomorrow at one, then.” She knelt in front of Jacob. “Jake, you and I and Dora are going to go for a ride tomorrow, after you sleep tonight, that is. We’ll have a grand time and I’ll show you where I got that cress from. We can gather some for your dinner. All right?”

  Miraculously, his eyes never leaving her mouth, he nodded.

  Six

  Theresa combed out her long hair and stared blankly at the mirror over her vanity table. She realized that the vague feelings of dissatisfaction she had felt since coming home from the season had disappeared, and the Martindales were responsible. Angelica had quickly become a friend. The sullen attitude the girl displayed with her father and others was never present when they were alone.

  And little Jacob . . . something about the boy haunted Theresa. He had an unnerving habit of staring directly into one’s eyes, as if he was reading one’s soul. That was just fancy, no doubt, but she knew deep down that he understood far more than he ever let on. Whether the secrets of his own soul would ever be unlocked only time would tell. And even if he always remained an enigma, that did not mean that he could not be communicated with and cared for.

  That was one of the things she appreciated about James Martindale. Love for his son was present in every interaction between them, every minute of every day. Society said he was a fool, and so he chose to eschew society in favor of family. He had taken the more difficult road and walked it without complaint.

  She put down her brush and picked up the stalk of vervain she had brought back from the meadow. This time of year some of the wild herbs were said to be at their most potent. Trefoil and rue, roses and vervain . . . all were said to be able to bring dreams about future lovers, future romance. She twirled the purple flowered herb between her fingers, smiled at her fancy, and crossed to her bed.

  Carefully, she put the vervain under her pillow and lay down, pulling the light covers up. Her mother would be proud of her, Theresa thought as she snuffed the candle.

  • • •

  “I’m here for Jacob,” Lady Theresa said, not getting down from her brass ornamented gig.

  James, in the lane in front of the house speaking to his groundskeeper about a fence for the stew pond, looked up at her on her high seat in her gig and wondered at the two spots of color on her cheeks. “Will you come in for a moment? One of the grooms can take care of your horse.”

  “No, I think not. If you can have Dora and Jacob meet me out here, I’ll wait.”

  Her evasive behavior was such a deviation from the day before that James wondered at it. “All right,” he said. “I think Jacob is looking forward to this. Last night he clutched that doll you gave him so tightly I couldn’t remove it when he went to bed. He slept with it.”

  Talking about his son did the trick; she eagerly met his eyes.

  “Really? I do so want him to enjoy himself today. We’re going to visit a man who has broken his leg, old Mr. Gudge, but then we’re going to my secret watercress bed. Jacob does love cress!”

  James sent the groundskeeper to the house to ask the butler to send Dora and Jacob out, and then strolled over to the gig. He laid one hand on the painted body and gazed up at Theresa. There was something different about her this day but he could not imagine what it was. She looked away hastily, but he had already noted how truly fine her gray eyes were, large and luminous. She must have slept well the night before.

  Unlike him. He had been disturbed by the strangest dreams all night, of a bonfire and people leaping and dancing around it. He remembered the Midsummer festivals of his youth; it was likely just that memory plaguing him.

  But that didn’t account for the other dreams, of chasing a mystery woman through the forest, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of her, only to have her disappear with just a fleeting glance at a handsome ankle and a wisp of dusky curls fluttering on the night breeze. He shook his head, dispelling the disturbing image.

  “Lady Theresa, I’d like to visit and meet your father. I fear I have been sorely remiss in that aspect, but there was so much to do at first. Would he be home this morning if Angelica and I visited?”

  “He will,” she said. “I thought perhaps I would take Jacob home with me; we could meet there for luncheon, about two? Would you care to do that?”

  He felt a flood of warmth and gratitude that this odd young woman had befriended them. “We would be delighted, if you’re sure it’s not putting you out at all.”

  “No,” she said. “Father and I would love to have company.”

  The two spots of deep pink appeared again on her high cheekbones. He had thought her plain at first meeting but had begun to see how fine her bone structure was, and how lovely her eyes.

  At that moment Dora, thrilled at her new position as nursemaid to Jacob and with her elevated status—going for a ride in Lady Theresa Barclay’s gig!—approached with her young charge’s hand firmly held in her own. Jacob was nervous at first and pulled back at the sight of the open gig.

  Theresa jumped down and led Jacob around to talk to her horse. James couldn’t hear what she said, but he could see that she had a way of hunching down and gazing directly into Jacob’s eyes. His son reached up and petted the velvety nose of the mare, and when they came back to the side of the carriage happily clambered up into the gig and onto Dora’s lap as Lady Theresa, with James’s help, climbed up and took the reins.

  “We’ll meet you at two then,” she said brightly, with a brisk snap of the reins.

  He watched her competent handling of the mare and the steady gait of her horse and tried not to worry. But why did he have the feeling that something was up that he should know about?

  • • •

  Theresa guided the gig expertly down the country lane. A side glance told her that Dora was afraid of the high, open vehicle but was doing her best to conceal her fear, for Jacob’s sake or perhaps her own.

  “I’ve never had an accident,” she said gently.

  Dora, clutching tightly onto Jacob and the edge of her seat, said, “No, my lady.”

  “Do you know Mr. Gudge, Dora?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s my great-uncle.”

  “Wonderful. This will be a family visit for you, then.”

  “Oh, I don’t know him to speak to him. Me mum calls him an evil old man and willna let me father visit.”

  Theresa bit back a smile. “I expect that is just because Mr. Gudge has a liking for ale and gin. It’s how he broke his leg, though he won’t confess it. But regardless, he’s an intelligent old man. I like him.”

  They pulled up outside the cottage, a ramshackle home cobbled together with daub and wattle, some wood, and a dash of luck. Theresa jumped down from the carriage, took Jacob from Dora, and said, “Dora, if you would prefer to stay out here and wait, th
at will be fine.”

  “If you don’t mind, my lady,” she said. She held on to the side of the gig as she stepped down. “My pa would be that put out if he was to find out I’d gone into the old man’s hut when he is not even allowed. And me mum would skin me alive.”

  “Well, we can’t have that.”

  Theresa led her mare to a shady spot to crop grass and then took Jacob by the hand as she entered the man’s cottage without knocking. They were old friends, she and Mr. Gudge. He had been game master of her father’s estate, and there was not another person in the county who knew so much about rabbits and partridge, quail and voles.

  Jacob hung back at first, but when she gazed directly into his eyes, his trust shone on his solemn face and he followed her with no more tugging backward.

  “Mr. Gudge, I’ve brought a visitor.”

  The old man was at his ease in a chair by the window, using daylight to carve his wooden animal figures. Since he couldn’t get about on his own just then, he was dependent upon whatever she chose to bring him, and she chose not to bring him spirits. At first he had been in a foul mood because of it, but he had steadily improved, and the apothecary had been surprised when last he had visited the old man to find him almost healed, though he was not a bit better, to hear him tell it. She suspected his malingering was brought about by an unexpected enjoyment of the attention his invalidism had attracted. Perhaps he would soon have reason to have a miraculous recovery.

  “Who have you brought to plague me, then?” he said querulously.

  “This is Master Jacob Martindale. Jacob, this is Mr. Gudge.”

  The two sized each other up for a few long minutes in the dull light of the odorous cottage. Gudge stuffed some tobacco from an oilskin pouch into a dark wood pipe and lit it from a taper set near the fire, but his eyes never left the boy’s face. Jacob’s consideration was equally silent.

  Theresa watched the old man’s eyes. She could read the flickering thoughts, almost as if they were writ on a page. He was intrigued. Because he was a miserable old cuss, folks dismissed Gudge as lacking in intelligence, but the opposite was true. He could not abide fools and so drove most people away, since, in his own words, most people were fools.

  But he had loved Lady Leighton with a devotion no one suspected but Theresa. They had mourned together when she died. Ever since, she had been sincerely attached to him as a reminder of her mother, and how that lady’s spirit lived on in those who loved her.

  Theresa reminded him of the girl she had brought to visit the last time and then said, “Jacob is Angelica’s brother, the son of Mr. James Martindale, new tenant of Meadowlark Mansion.”

  “Ah. That so.”

  The two, boy and old man, stared at each other for a moment longer, then Gudge took another knife up from his side table and a block of wood, and handed them to Jacob. “See what you can make outta this, boy,” he said gruffly, staring directly into the child’s eyes.

  Theresa left the two to sit alone for a while as she made tea, some sandwiches for the old man’s luncheon and soup for his supper. She unpacked some more dainties, washed dishes and put them away. Folks in the village would be amazed to see her doing such menial chores. She could just hire him some help, but she knew he would hate that. Soon he would be on his feet again and able to do for himself. Until then, she would do his chores.

  She called out the window for Dora to bring her a pail of water from the well, then tidied the last of the crumbs and leftovers away, putting them into a pail and handing them to Dora to give to Mr. Gudge’s pig in the hut behind the cottage.

  Housework done, she came back to the two who carved in silence.

  Jacob, his narrow face intensely focused, carved with quick strokes that took Theresa’s breath away, so frightening was it to see his deft hands flash and move, the blade like quicksilver. But in another moment he was done and held up his handiwork to the light.

  Theresa gazed, astonished, at the marvel he had wrought in the hour they had been there. It was a tree, but it roiled with life. Squirrels—clumsy but clearly squirrels—chased each other in circles on the trunk and birds, some in flight, were attached to the tree limbs by just the most tenuous tip of their wings. The leaves practically fluttered and danced, there was such life in the little carving. It was crude, but there was a mysterious power to it.

  She let her breath out. “Amazing,” she sighed. “Jacob,” she continued, taking his face in her hands and staring into his eyes. “That is a lovely piece of carving. Would you like to take it for your papa to see?” He nodded. “Okay. Run along outside for a moment while I talk to Mr. Gudge alone.”

  He handed the old man back his knife and gazed at him for a minute.

  “You’re welcome, lad. Come back any time.”

  Jacob bounced out to show Dora his tree, and her glad cries and exclamations could be heard through the open window.

  “You have made a friend.”

  “He’s all right,” he grunted. “Silent. That’s always a good thing in a child.”

  “However, some in the village don’t like him. They’re afraid of him because he’s different.”

  “Pack of fools, the lot of them.”

  “Some. Some just easily led. And some believe whatever they’re told.” She told him about Mrs. Greavely, Dame Alice and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hurst, and the groom who said Jacob had “the evil eye.”

  He snorted through her story and then gazed at her shrewdly. “An’ what do you want from me, eh?”

  “I’ll tell you what I want, and I’ll tell you what I am prepared to do to get it.”

  A half hour later she left the cottage, singing an old tune. Time to collect cress in her secret spot with Jacob and Dora, then go home to luncheon and to see James Martindale again. Why that should give her such a trill of happiness she would not examine, in light of her dreams the night before, dreams brought on by vervain under her pillow, or something much more insidious.

  Seven

  “Can Jacob and I please stay with Lady Theresa for the night?”

  James Martindale, interrupted in the middle of his work in the library, frowned at his daughter. She had never expressed any interest in going anywhere or doing anything with her brother, and now, suddenly, she was his champion. He should be happy at this turn of events. Angelica had been better behaved and happier since the moment Lady Theresa had trundled into their lives. Their luncheon the day before at the Leighton home had been refreshingly informal, for all the awesome history of the turreted home. Lord Leighton was a good man, quiet, gently humorous, with a twinkle in his eyes when he spoke to Jacob that warmed James’s heart.

  They were a worthy family and good friends.

  So why should he complain if Lady Theresa wanted to invite Jacob and Angelica to stay the night? It was Midsummer Eve, and Angelica had explained that the Leighton farmhands always staged a bonfire ritual that was all in good fun.

  But it would be his first night ever away from both of his children at once, and it made him uneasy.

  “Will Dora be able to go with you to look after Jacob? I would not have all the burden on Lady Theresa’s staff.”

  “Of course Dora will come.”

  “Then . . .” James was having trouble saying it, but Angelica was bouncing in front of him from foot to foot, her pretty green dress with gold velvet ribbons—courtesy of Lady Theresa’s talented seamstress—fluttering about her legs. “All right. You may go.”

  “Three cheers for Papa!” Angelica said, taking Jacob’s hands and dancing around in a circle with him. He pulled away from her and retreated, clutching his hands behind his back and staring, eyes wide. She immediately stopped, stooped just as Lady Theresa might, and said, “It is all right, Jake, I am just happy. We are going to visit Lady Theresa, you and me and Dora. You will like that, won’t you?”

  He nodded, slowly, and James felt a pang as he watched his silent and mysterious son. He knew Jacob better than anyone, and yet still, most of what went on in his boy’s
mind was a puzzle. Sometimes the child could not bear to be touched, and one had to know just by the look on his face. Lady Theresa seemed to have found the key to Jacob’s heart much faster than anyone. He ought to be grateful, he supposed, but he found that he was a little jealous. It would not stop him from letting Jacob experience all the lady had to offer, though. He thought she was good for him, and that did please him.

  “All right,” he said, clapping his hands together. “We should get your things together and take you over to Lady Theresa, then.”

  • • •

  Theresa sat at the table in the breakfast parlor and gazed off out the window in the curved west turret wall. She should be planning the children’s evening. She had received a message from Meadowlark Mansion that James Martindale would bring the children over himself later in the afternoon. Her plan was about to take flight, and she was pleased.

  And yet another night of dreams—even without that cursed vervain under her pillow—had left her uneasy. This was not the product of any herb; her own mind had conjured these dreams.

  At first in her dream James Martindale, handsome and self-assured as he always was, was behind her, holding her against him and whispering words she could not quite hear. She turned in his arms and he kissed her, gently, and then the dream drifted into hazy imaginings she could not now remember. But then later they sat on the stream bank near her cress bed, and he was holding her hand and telling her that as much as he liked her and appreciated her kind offer of marriage, he could not see attaching himself to a woman of her age.

  She was no fool; she knew from whence the dream had come. Sometime during the week or so she had known him, she had become attracted to him. He was handsome but she wasn’t a child, her head turned by a pretty face and smooth manner. This was not like Paolo. She had been so lonely after her mother’s death, and Paolo’s gentle attentions had been a balm to her wounded heart. She had been grasping for happiness, but looking back, she could see how bad a match they would have made.