by Annis Bell
I remain,
Your obedient servant,
Derek Tomkins
1.
Mulberry Park, Cornwall, November 1860
Jane stretched and blinked in the weak morning sunlight that filtered through the curtains. It was already cold, more so than usual for November. The farmers were talking about a hard winter ahead. Shivering, she pulled the blankets all the way up to the chilly tip of her nose, noting that the fire in the fireplace seemed to have gone out. A low, throaty growl reminded her that she was not alone. Well, if she had to share her bed, then at least she wouldn’t freeze. She pushed her feet across to where she knew David’s warm body was, because it was also where most of the blanket had gone.
“What the . . . !” came a muffled cry of protest, then the blanket was thrown back. David, quick as a flash, turned to Jane, threw his arms around her, and pulled her body close.
So much had happened since that fateful night at the ball in February, and her life had taken a turn that she had never expected. With the death of her uncle, she had lost the only person—aside from her parents—she truly loved. Back then, a marriage of convenience with the aloof Captain Wescott seemed the only way to save herself from the guardianship of her hated cousin. But that same Captain Wescott—a stranger from whom she expected no more than the fulfillment of a contract, the protection offered by a paper marriage—showed her that friendship and loyalty could turn into something more. Far more, thought Jane. She smiled.
The lips that had been nuzzling so gently at her throat and collarbone drew back. “What do you find so amusing, Jane?”
Propping himself up on an elbow, David ran his fingers over the rise of her breasts. Dreamily, she opened her eyes and reached out a hand to him. His dark hair tumbled to his powerful shoulders. She touched his upper arm, where a bullet had left a scar. His back and belly were likewise marked by old wounds—a thrust from a bayonet here, a shot from a duel there, although he had yet to reveal to her the reason for the duel.
Her hand slid up to his neck, and she briefly touched the scar that ran from his chin to his right temple. It was among his more recent injuries, but it was no longer as red as it had been in February. “Sometimes, it amazes me that you are here with me.”
His dark eyes, with such mysterious hidden depths, were full of warmth. “Why?”
She flicked at a stray strand of his hair, her eyes teasing him. “Perhaps you could have done better than me. I am well-off but not rich. I am, let’s say, challenging. I’m not beautiful, my nose is too large, and you’ve had all kinds of trouble with me.”
“If by ‘trouble’ you mean that you act impetuously and that I have been seriously worried about your life more than once, then, yes, I agree. But that rubbish about your nose . . .” He kissed the tip of it. “I find it classical. And your chin? It matches your passionate, defiant personality, which I happen to find fascinating, albeit a little unconventional at times . . .”
He kissed her, taking his time, savoring the contours of her body. Finally, he looked up and asked, “Do you need any more reasons?”
Breathlessly, all teasing forgotten, Jane replied, “Not for the moment.”
She had learned that she could not badger him with too many questions, although there was so much she wanted to know. He rarely spoke about his father and never about his mother. Whenever he was called to London by mail, he made excuses about leaving for business, but she knew perfectly well that the letters came from the palace. She gathered that he worked for the royal intelligence services; he had once admitted as much, only to then turn around and deny it with his next breath, saying that all he did was offer advice based on his wartime experience. But Jane practiced patience, a virtue she was willing to learn when it came to David. She would never have believed it possible to feel what she did for this man; no one had ever told her what it meant to be in love.
Her vague, girlish notions of heady romantic love had absolutely nothing to do with what she felt for David. During their first night together, he had seduced her with tenderness and passion, showing her that physical intimacy did not have to be shameful. As a result, she had discovered what she called a dark side within herself, a side of her that only David knew and, it seemed, wanted to celebrate abundantly.
“Hettie will be coming in any moment,” she offered in weak protest as her nightdress floated to the floor.
“Hettie knows when she is not welcome.”
Later, wearing a brown riding outfit and with her hair pinned up, Jane sat with her husband at the breakfast table. David studied the morning paper, frowning.
“A new war?” Jane asked as she buttered her toast and tore off a piece for Rufus. The Great Dane with its trusting eyes lay at her feet.
“Hmm . . . our troops have destroyed the Summer Palace in Peking,” David said, looking up. “That does not bode well. All it does is lead to resentment and revenge. They learn nothing from these wars,” he murmured, turning back to the article about the aftermath of the Opium War that Britain and France had been waging against the Chinese.
“Good morning, my lady.” Floyd, the butler, brought in the post on a silver tray.
He was still favoring one leg a little. Jane had offered her long-serving butler a pension and a small cottage at the coast, but Floyd had remained at Mulberry Park. She was happy that he had, because having Floyd nearby conjured up precious memories of her Uncle Henry.
“Thank you, Floyd.” Two letters lay on the tray. She took the one addressed to her. “How is Mrs. Roche?”
The housekeeper had been ill with a troubling cough, but Mrs. Roche’s sense of discipline and duty prevented her from admitting that she would be better off in her bed rather than here in the house. Jane had called in Dr. Woodfall, and it was only on his say-so that Mrs. Roche finally accepted the prescribed bed rest.
“Thank you for asking, my lady. She is quite recovered and back to her usual self, if I may say so.” A hint of a smile flickered across his face.
“Wonderful. I would like a fruitcake for tea and fish this evening. Would you like that, David?” she said, turning back to her husband.
“Hmm? Yes, of course,” he answered, opening the letter Floyd had handed him.
“Will that be all, my lady?” Floyd asked.
“Yes, thank you. And Floyd, make sure there is enough wood to warm the staff quarters as well as the main house.” Jane could not understand how in other houses the domestic staff was forced to live in freezing rooms. Not only did a lack of heat mean excessive moisture in the house, but also no one had much use for a sick servant.
“Very good, my lady.” The butler bowed and left.
Jane reached for her fruit knife and opened the letter. She immediately recognized the flowing hand of her friend Alison, but a moment later she caught her breath, because what she read did not sound at all like the cheerful, uncomplaining Alison she knew. If her friend wasn’t chatting about plays in London or the latest scandals or fashions, then she must have some very serious concerns indeed. And as she read on, Jane’s fears turned out to be well-founded:
Dearest Jane,
I miss you very much and wish you could be here! I should have listened to Thomas and not traveled to this wasteland! I’m in my seventh month, as you know, and this pregnancy is causing me more difficulties than the last one. But Charlotte’s letter sounded so despairing that I simply could not leave her to her own devices. Have I ever told you about my cousin Charlotte? We were always very close, at least until she married Sir Frederick Halston! I warned her at the time and advised her not to marry that horrible man, who is much older than she is.
But you don’t know Charlotte. She is so terribly dutiful that she does everything her parents tell her to. Simply everything! If her dreadful father told her to jump into the Thames, she would. Imagine that! But, oh, that’s just the way she is, and there’s no changing it; she simply had to move here. She lives in Northumberland, outside a godforsaken town called Allenton. The village li
es in the Cheviot Hills, a treacherous expanse of moors and bogs. A moor, of all places! You have no idea what an inhospitable place this is, but that might also have something to do with Sir Frederick, who I have yet to see in a good mood. He prowls through the rooms here at Winton Park with the grouchiest, most unpleasant expression on his face, and that’s if he decides to show his face at all.
And another thing I haven’t told you: He’s one of these fanatical flower collectors that seem to be crawling all over the place these days. But no, he doesn’t collect just flowers. He collects orchids! Oh, I don’t know what people see in those crippled-looking little plants. The flowers have hardly any scent at all, and they look somehow indecent . . . then again, perhaps that is what makes them so attractive. Dearest Jane, please don’t let your husband read this, or he will think me depraved. But I must also say, I think you have had the greatest luck in having Captain Wescott as your husband, and that makes me very happy for you, Jane! You are my very best friend, and I could not bear to see you unhappy.
You have to come and pay me a visit in this cold district. I am not allowed to get out of bed—the doctor has forbidden it! It is torture! But I have to stay here, or I might lose the child, and he fears for my life if my labor comes early or, worse, if I start to bleed. I suffered some bleeding just after I arrived, but the child is still alive, and I am as well as can be so far. But as I said, I cannot leave my bed.
No doubt you are thinking: What does spoiled little Alison have to complain about? She has her cousin there for company, after all. Well, Charlotte has two children of her own. Eleanor has just turned five, and Charlotte’s son, Cedric, is seven. Cedric is a little beast, a repulsive creature who maltreats not only his sister but also animals. And you know how I hate when children do that. Charlotte has changed in the two years since I last saw her. She has become terribly pale and is no more than a shadow of her former self. The children run rings around her, and she can’t count on Sir Frederick for anything, for he spends all his time in his precious hothouse.
And now I come to the real reason I am writing: I am afraid! Jane, I am worried about Charlotte. Something about this house isn’t right at all, and I am convinced that all is not as it appears. I cannot put into words what I find so inexplicable here, but there is something evil at work, and I fear the worst for my cousin! You are the only one who understands me. Thomas is tied up in London, and in any case he would think me hysterical.
Please come and visit as soon as you can! They can’t turn you away if you are coming to help me, and then you can find out what is going on here. Please, my dearest friend, don’t make me linger here alone!
Your truest friend,
Ally
Jane put the letter down and looked at her husband. “Ally’s written, David. She isn’t well, and I must go to her.”
David, who had finished reading his own missive, folded it and nodded. “Nothing simpler. I also have to travel to London. We can go together.”
Jane shook her head. “She isn’t there. She’s in Northumberland, in Allenton, staying with her cousin Charlotte.”
“Northumberland? That’s out of the question. Winter is coming. The roads are either quagmires or frozen over, and we’ll have our first snow within the week. You can’t travel to the north now.” His words sounded final.
“But I have to! There’s a train from London to York and another on to Durham, if I remember correctly. From Durham with a coach—”
“No! Jane, it is too dangerous this time of year!” said David, louder than intended, then he smoothed out his newspaper and continued more quietly. “Please, Jane, maybe you will indeed reach York and even Allenton. But once winter closes in, you’ll be trapped up there till springtime!”
Jane cleared her throat. “David, I have to go to Alison. She’s worried about her cousin. More than worried . . . I know Ally, and she would not write what she did if she did not have grounds to do so.”
“That may be, but—”
“No buts, David. She is my best and oldest friend, and if she asks for my help, then I will not deny her that. You have to understand! You would never leave a friend in the lurch, would you?”
David Wescott ran his hand through his thick, dark mane. “No, I would not. But you are a woman, Jane. You are my wife, and I cannot allow anything to happen to you.”
Jane felt her anger slowly rising. “May I remind you that we have a contract? One in which we are supposedly equal partners.”
He raised one eyebrow. “And partners look after each other, don’t they? It is my duty to be concerned about your well-being, and what you are planning to do is foolish!”
“Don’t exaggerate! I’m going to take a train with my maid and travel to the north. From there, a coach will take us to a village somewhere in the vicinity of Hadrian’s Wall, which is extremely interesting in itself, I think. I’ve always wanted to visit Hadrian’s Wall.”
“But not in winter!” David stated flatly.
“I don’t have a choice. Alison needs me now, not in the spring when the sun is shining and my husband thinks the time is right for a vacation.” Her lips hardened into a tight line, and she challenged him with her gaze, rather disappointed that he had so little confidence in her.
“You’re questioning my judgment,” he said, his tone cool.
“Your judgment?” Jane’s voice grew tremulous; she could no longer contain her disappointment about his dominating tone. Rising slowly to her feet, she pressed the letter to her chest and said quietly, “I was questioning nothing, because I always believed that we respected each other fully. But now it looks as if I might have been mistaken. Perhaps our marriage itself was a mistake.”
David leaped angrily to his feet. “You make things very easy for yourself, Jane. There has always been someone watching over you, caring for you. You’ve never had to worry about anything. But if just once you don’t get what you want, you become petulant.”
“My heart is simply more sympathetic than yours! Where would Mary be today if I hadn’t gone looking for her? Dead or in a brothel, that’s where!”
David’s eyes flashed angrily at the mention of Mary, an orphan girl whom Jane had rescued earlier in the year from the clutches of a depraved nobleman. “If it hadn’t been for Blount and me watching over you like hawks, you’d be dead yourself! But you’re quite content to forget that particular point, aren’t you? Do you seriously believe that a woman and her lady’s maid could resist the likes of Devereaux without any help? Good God, Jane, think again!”
“Don’t you think I know that? But this is not about orphanages and the secret carousings of perverse aristocrats. I want to visit my friend!” She softened her tone, relenting somewhat because she suspected that more awaited her in Winton Park than the company of her bedridden friend.
David took a deep breath. They were standing facing each another, and Jane could see a vein pulsing in his neck. His furrowed brow relaxed a little, and a smile crept into the corners of his mouth. Relieved, she took a step toward him and smoothed out the tails of his frock coat.
“I won’t do anything that could put Hettie or me in harm’s way.”
Taking her hand, he suddenly smiled and pulled her into his arms. “If only I could believe that, Jane.” He kissed her, then pulled back slightly and tapped the letter still in her hand. “May I read it?”
She pushed the letter into her skirt pocket and jokingly said, “Of course not! Alison writes all sorts of confidential gossip, women’s matters that would make even you blush.”
“I doubt that very much. I know Thomas well enough to know that his wife, unlike you, is as innocent as a lamb. You just don’t trust me.”
“You two talk about us? I see. And what do you tell him about me?” She flirtingly made as if to turn away, but David put an arm around her waist and looked intently into her eyes.
“What’s in the letter?”
Jane held his gaze. “I already told you. What’s in your letter?”
He
released her. “We’ll go to London together. You wanted to see the Royal Academy exhibition, if I remember right. We’ll visit Thomas and then decide whether it is really necessary for you to travel to the north.”
That’s a step in the right direction, thought Jane, who had already made up her mind.
2.
Seymour Street, London, November 1860
Jane climbed the stairs to the second floor and looked around. Little had changed since her departure from London months earlier. Levi was as reserved as ever, and slender little Josiah still shadowed the elderly man.
“Josiah, put the bags in here,” Levi ordered the boy, who puffed into Jane’s bedroom with two traveling cases.
“Thank you. It’s lovely to be back. How are you, Levi?” Jane asked the man, whose eastern European accent was still unmistakable.
“I can’t complain, my lady. Josiah, don’t just stand around. Run and fetch the rest of the luggage.” Levi’s expression betrayed no emotion, but his intelligent eyes belied his submissive manner.
One day I’ll discover your secret, thought Jane, pulling open the curtains. She heard Hettie laughing in the hall. The young woman had spent the entire trip talking about a play she hoped to see and a certain dashing actor whose name Jane could not bother to remember.
It was raining, and the city seemed gray and desolate, just like the wintry garden the window overlooked. Out in the country, bad weather didn’t bother her. It watered the plants and felt cleansing. But in the city, the rain seemed dirtier—though that may have been because all the sidewalks turned into slippery, muddy mires, with women’s long skirts absorbing the grime and moisture.