The Battling Bluestocking

by Scott, Amanda

  Jessica had been enjoying herself. It had not occurred to her that she might have had any difficulty rescuing Janet St. Erth from the miner, but Sir Brian’s question gave her food for thought. It also made her a little uncomfortable. The truth was that she didn’t think she could have shot the miner. Certainly not while Miss St. Erth stood so close to him. She looked up at Sir Brian uncertainly, aware that her knees felt a little weak.

  “There was still the guard, sir.”

  “True, but the mistake you made was in challenging Hayle in the first place. You attacked him and his actions, instead of trying to discover why he was accosting Miss St. Erth. He was bound to react violently.”

  “Well, I could scarcely pass by such a scene, even if they hadn’t been blocking the road.”

  “Exactly why I said it was lucky Andrew and I came along.”

  The regal arrogance was there again, in both his tone and stance, making Jessica long to slap him. But his nearness was having its usual effect upon her, as well, and the mixture of feelings was confusing. She glared at him.

  “I don’t know what you accomplished,” she retorted, “except to delay whatever violence that man is capable of. I would not have let him hurt that poor girl, so you did nothing more in that respect than I’d have done myself. You just led him to believe you might be able to help him. He’ll be angrier than ever when he discovers you’re no more than another mine owner.”

  “He knows who I am,” Sir Brian said.

  “Well, then he must have seen that he was outnumbered, because I can’t believe he thinks he can get any help from another such as his own master.”

  Sir Brian made no further attempt to convince her, merely giving her a straight look that added to her discomfiture before handing her back into the carriage. Then, pausing only long enough pay his respects to Lady Gordon, he mounted his horse and rode off after Andrew and Miss St. Erth. Jessica watched him go, then nearly snapped off poor Lady Gordon’s nose a moment later for remarking that Sir Brian’s arrival had been most timely.

  It was not until some time later, when she was safely alone in her own bedchamber, that Jessica allowed herself to consider the episode more objectively. Very few moments of thought were necessary before she came to the conclusion that Sir Brian had indeed defused an explosive situation. Remembering how easily Hayle’s aggressive attitude had fired her own quick temper, she realized that at the very least an undignified shouting match would have arisen from their confrontation. At the worst there might well have been violence. Instead, Sir Brian had managed to effect a peaceful outcome. Of course, there might still be trouble if he could do nothing to help Hayle, but he had at least seen to it that Miss St. Erth would say nothing to her father about being accosted. That had been rather clever of him, she thought.

  She had more than one reason to think about Sir Brian in the weeks ahead, for both he and his nephew became frequent visitors at Gordon Hall, and even accepted an occasional invitation to dine, a fact which gratified Lord and Lady Gordon rather more than it pleased Jessica. She had expected to find her first meeting with Sir Brian after the business with Hayle to be a trifle strained, but it was not. Sir Brian was perfectly affable, soon putting her at ease with his charming ways.

  Miss Sutton-Drew was rapidly becoming convinced that Sir Brian had indeed determined to fix her interest in himself, and she was wary of him as a result. He certainly did not seem to be the sort of worshipful puppy she had met so often before, nor—which would have been much worse—was he a fool. Still, she had long since convinced herself that she was destined to be a spinster, and she tended to question the motives of anyone who appeared to encourage her in the pursuit of any other course. As a consequence she kept her distance as much as she was able to do so. Nonetheless, she was aware of Sir Brian no matter how many other people were in the room when he was present. He stirred something within her, and she seemed to have no defenses against whatever it was.

  She heard nothing further about Miss St. Erth or the man Hayle, and finally, when her curiosity could bear it no longer, she asked Andrew if he knew anything about the matter. He had begun treating Gordon Hall nearly as a second home, just as though he had never had the temerity to hold up his lordship’s carriage, and that afternoon he had come alone, complaining that there was nothing to do at home because his uncle was busy with the assizes. Jessica bore him off to sit upon a stone bench on the windward side of the tall yew hedges, where they could watch the waves roll in on the beach far below, before she put her question to him.

  “Oh, Uncle Brian took care of that business,” Andrew replied glibly. “Sir Warren’s got some devilish nipcheese notions, but everything is all right and tight now. I have seen Janet…that is, Miss St. Erth, a time or two since that day, you know, and she tells me Hayle sought her out, once matters were in hand, to apologize for his rudeness.”

  “Goodness, that must have surprised her,” Jessica said, smiling vaguely but thinking of Sir Brian, wondering how he had managed to make a man like Sir Warren attend to the dangers of his mine.

  “Well, I daresay,” Andrew went on, unaware of her wandering thoughts, “but she is so full of plans for her first Season in London, you know, that she really said very little about it. Isn’t it odd, Miss Sutton-Drew, how girls one once thought of as pests grow up to be rather dashing and pretty?”

  “Miss St. Erth is certainly pretty,” Jessica agreed absently.

  “Well, I should say so,” he returned with fervor. He then went on to read Jessica a catalog of the girl’s points, much as he might have done for a favorite horse, but she managed to keep her countenance and to pretend to listen with keen interest. It occurred to her that she might well be subjected to many such discussions until Lady St. Erth bore her charming daughter off to London, since Andrew had fallen into the habit of calling at Gordon Hall almost daily. However, within two days an event occurred that put Miss St. Erth straight out of the lad’s head.

  Jessica was returning to the house from the stables, having ridden out with her groom for some well-needed exercise, when she heard the quick clatter of hooves on the drive. Turning, she beheld young Mr. Liskeard astride Sailor, balancing what appeared to be a pile of wet laundry across the saddle bow before him. As he drew to a halt beside her, the pile of laundry moved.

  “Andrew, what on earth!”

  The lad was frowning anxiously. “It’s a lady, Miss Sutton-Drew, a young lady. I discovered her, exhausted, lying all aheap on the beach near the south end of Mount’s Bay. She must have nearly drowned.”

  “Merciful heavens. Who is she?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. I can’t seem to make her understand a word I say to her, and she hasn’t spoken. Where shall I take her, Miss Sutton-Drew? I can’t take her home. We’re all men there. It wouldn’t be proper. I thought perhaps Lady Gordon—”

  “Good gracious, Andrew, you should have taken the poor thing to the nearest inn. Bring her inside quickly. We’ve got to get her warmed up before she catches her death.”

  With Andrew carrying the stranger, Jessica led the way into the house, directing the housekeeper to show young Mr. Liskeard to a bedchamber where he could deposit his burden and to cause a fire to be kindled there. “Also, you had better find the poor thing some dry clothes, Mrs. Borthwick, and some warm broth, perhaps.”

  Just then the young woman stirred in Andrew’s arms and opened her eyes. They were brown, a few shades lighter than her damp hair. Her skin was darkly tanned, and she appeared to be quite slim, though rather full-bosomed. Her lips were full and well-shaped. As she looked around the entryway of Gordon Hall, her eyes seemed to widen with fear and her lips parted to emit a low cry.

  “You’re safe,” Andrew said gently.

  She gazed up at him, then stared at Jessica, then at plump Mrs. Borthwick, before she began to struggle weakly in Andrew’s arms.

  “Be still,” he said. “You are safe.”

  She did not seem to understand him at all, and a moment later,
in a high-pitched, nearly wailing voice, she spoke rapidly. It was the others’ turn to stare, for the words pouring from her mouth were, to their ears, at any rate, complete gibberish.

  Lady Gordon rushed into the hallway from the garden saloon. “What on earth…?” She looked first at Andrew’s burden and then at Jessica.

  “I haven’t the faintest notion,” the latter replied. “Andrew found this young woman on the beach. She is wet and cold, so he brought her here, knowing we would help her. Unfortunately she does not appear to be English and does not seem to understand what we say to her.”

  “Well, she still needs to get dry and warm,” Lady Gordon said firmly. “Take her upstairs, Andrew. Mrs. Borthwick will show you. Perhaps if you soothe her the way one would soothe a wild bird, it would help.”

  He nodded gratefully, then began to murmur soft nonsense to the girl as he followed Mrs. Borthwick up the wide stairway. The girl seemed to settle more quietly into his arms as he spoke.

  Jessica looked at her sister. “You handled that very well, Georgie.”

  Lady Gordon straightened a little, smiling. “Yes, I did, did I not? I expect it comes of playing Lady Bountiful so often. One learns what to do in certain circumstances.”

  “You speak as though a refugee washing up on the beach is a common occurrence,” Jessica teased.

  “No, of course not,” Georgeanne said with dignity. “It is simply a matter of using one’s common sense and doing the most important thing first. It was perfectly clear that the most important thing was to get the poor creature dry and warm with some nourishing English food in her.”

  “You are a good person, Georgie, but something feels odd in all this.”

  “Time enough to sort it out once she’s on her feet again,” Lady Gordon said practically. Then, with a spark of mischief in her eye, she added, “Perhaps you ought to seek Sir Brian’s advice in the matter.”

  “Don’t be ridic—” Jessica broke off when she noticed her sister’s laughing eyes. “You rogue, Georgie. You know how I detest receiving advice from that man.”

  “Or from anyone else,” her ladyship pointed out with sisterly bluntness. “I have frequently noted, however, that Sir Brian quite enjoys being asked for advice. Or have you not observed that fact?”

  “He has a habit of thrusting it upon one whether one asks it or not,” Jessica replied, not without a touch of tartness in her tone.

  “I expect it comes of being a justice of the peace and deciding other people’s lives for them,” said Lady Gordon placidly, “and since he will learn about this business soon enough, you might as well be prepared.”

  Jessica smiled at her. For once she didn’t think she would mind at all hearing what Sir Brian would have to say. It was a puzzling situation. Andrew, when he came downstairs again, agreed with her.

  “Uncle Brian will know what to do,” he said. “But I think before I ask him, I shall just ride round to the nearest villages to see if I can discover any information that will help us.”

  Whether he discovered anything or not, Jessica had no way of knowing, for he did not return that day to Gordon Hall. The stranger slept most of the afternoon and was still asleep that evening when Borthwick announced Sir Brian.

  They had gathered, as was their custom, in the first-floor drawing room after supper. Lord Gordon sat near the cheerful little fire, a glass of port and a branch of working candles on the low parquetry table beside him and the ever-present stack of estate papers in his lap. Lady Gordon, in a chair on the opposite side of the parquetry table from her husband, worked diligently at her tapestry frame, chatting all the while with her sister, who was attempting to convince a square of cardboard, a pile of gaily colored ribbons, and some yellow netting that they ought somehow to form themselves into the exact sort of elegant reticule pictured in the copy of La Belle Assemblée that rested upon the settee beside her. The instructions which accompanied the drawing in the fashionable magazine repeated from time to time the assurance that the pattern in question was simple enough to enable the most inexperienced hand to achieve excellent results. So far Miss Sutton-Drew had failed to achieve anything remotely resembling the exquisite drawing. She looked up with undisguised relief when Borthwick announced Sir Brian.

  That gentleman had condescended to honor them by wearing evening attire instead of his usual riding dress, and he looked more precise than Jessica had yet seen him, in black trousers and coat, well-polished half-boots, a white shirt, and embroidered waistcoat. He was not dressed nearly so fashionably as Lord Gordon, who sported padded shoulders and a wasp waist to his dark blue coat, worn over yellow cossack trousers that, in Jessica’s opinion, merely gave his lordship the unfortunate appearance of a plump toby jug. By comparison, Sir Brian’s height and regal carriage gave him an air of elegance that no tailor would ever achieve for Lord Gordon.

  The dark brown eyes met hers immediately, and the tall broad-shouldered gentleman smiled. It fascinated her to watch the way the smile lit his eyes as well as his face. In repose his strong features looked almost harsh, but when he smiled, they softened dramatically. Feeling a glow of gentle warmth, Jessica smiled back, little realizing that her own countenance altered nearly as much as his, making her look younger and more vulnerable, while adding a gentleness to her features that was otherwise concealed by her air of dignity.

  Lord Gordon set aside his papers and took snuff. “Welcome,” he said, carefully dusting his sleeve. “I daresay you’ve heard all about our latest excitement. To be sure, you must have done, for young Andrew was no doubt full of his discovery when he returned to Shaldon Park.”

  “He was,” replied Sir Brian. “Good evening, Lady Gordon. I trust my nephew’s imposition upon your good nature has caused no serious problems.”

  “No, indeed, sir,” she answered, blushing a little. “How could she, when she has scarcely wakened since Mrs. Borthwick tucked her up in bed? Do sit down, sir. Cyril, pour out a glass of port for Sir Brian.”

  “You relieve my mind considerably, ma’am,” Sir Brian said, accepting the glass offered by his lordship and taking a seat on the settee next to Jessica, grinning at her when she scrambled in a most undignified fashion to clear away the magazine as well as the odd bits and pieces of her project to make room for him.

  “Were you concerned about our young stranger?” his lordship inquired, frowning a little at his sister-in-law. “I cannot think why you should be. Pretty young thing.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Sir Brian replied, smiling slightly at him. “You would be well advised to place a guard at her door, however.”

  “A guard! Well, upon my word, sir. Surely you don’t think that poor young thing is in any danger?”

  Lady Gordon’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

  “Nothing of the sort,” Sir Brian said. “It is rather the reverse, I fear. You know nothing of her antecedents, after all. This may be no more than a rather complex ploy with your silver as the target, ma’am.”

  “Oh, surely not,” protested her ladyship. “Why, you haven’t seen her, sir. She cannot be more than eighteen at the most. And so innocent and helpless. Why, she does not even speak English. Mrs. Borthwick quite despaired of being able to communicate with her, though she did somehow manage to elicit the information that the poor child’s name is Kara—Kara Boo is what Mrs. Borthwick thought she said, though we cannot help but think that a trifle unlikely. I believe most of their communication is accomplished through the use of hand signals, you know.”

  “No doubt.” Sir Brian’s tone was dry, and he turned to Jessica. “What do you think of the refugee, Miss Sutton-Drew?”

  “So far I have no reason to form any judgment at all, sir,” Jessica returned primly.

  “I doubt that would stop you,” he murmured in an undertone, his eyes dancing. “Will you ride with me tomorrow?”

  Color flooded her cheeks, but as Lord Gordon chose that particular moment to demand to know what Sir Brian would advise him to do in the situation,
she was spared the necessity of an immediate reply.

  “I should do what I could to discover more about her origins,” Sir Brian told his lordship. “And I should certainly do whatever was necessary to protect my own, in the event that your Kara is a thief or worse.”

  Lord Gordon tut-tutted and Lady Gordon protested that she could not imagine that the poor young thing upstairs might be a danger to anyone. During the ensuing conversation Jessica was able to compose herself, so that by the time Sir Brian arose to take his departure, she had herself well in hand. When he bent near to inform her that he would call for her at ten the following morning, she replied calmly that it would be her pleasure to ride with him.

  When he had gone, Lord Gordon commented with a touch of pride that they had been seeing quite a lot of that gentleman of late. “Stroke of luck when young Andrew chose our coach to hold up, what?”

  His wife, with a twinkling look at her sister, agreed that it was indeed a stroke of luck and then deftly changed the subject. Jessica, attempting to sort out the tangle of cardboard, ribbons, and netting that she had jumbled together in order to make room for Sir Brian to sit beside her, had no idea what to think. All she knew in that moment was that she was looking forward with more than ordinary pleasurable anticipation to riding with him the following morning.

  Accordingly, she was dressed in her lavender riding habit and ready to go long before the appointed hour, so when Mrs. Borthwick informed her that the young person upstairs would no doubt like to sit for a spell in the garden, Jessica volunteered to accompany her there. The housekeeper brought Kara down immediately, indicating with hand signals that she was to go along with Miss Sutton-Drew. The girl, attired in a serviceable blue gown that no doubt belonged to one of the maidservants, and wearing her hair combed simply back behind her ears to fall in dark brown waves to her slim waist, seemed not in the least averse to accompanying Jessica. Within a few moments they were seated side by side upon a stone bench at one side of the path in the rose garden.