by Becky Riker
Jillian looked down at the intricate lace, “I hope this one sells; it is a bit different than the others.”
Marianne scoffed, “We have never had one of your collars in the shop for more than a day. This will sell.”
“I am glad people like them as they seem to be all I can manage.”
“You shouldna bother about sewing skirts; those collars are bringing in more than the gowns.”
Jillian allowed a small smile.
“I do believe my husband praises God at every moment for bringing you to us.”
Jillian knew she was had not contributed as much to the family as they had given her, but she was grateful she had done well enough in her sewing lessons that Patrick and Marianne were going to finally make some money.
“I wrote to Erin,” Marianne mentioned as she cut the fabric for the next dress Jillian was to make.
“You didn’t mention me?” Jillian looked up from her needle and thread.
Marianne clucked her tongue, “Of course not. I did tell her my daughter, Judith, was making excellent progress in her sewing lessons and would soon progress beyond helping her father in the shop to sewing fine dresses for the ladies.”
Jillian smiled, “I hardly think that would give him a clue.”
“I hardly think he is likely to read her letters anyway.”
Jillian did not have such hope. The doctor had written to say Erin had been returned to the position of scullery maid for allowing Miss Trent to escape. Erin, it seemed, bore it with equanimity, and rarely saw the master now that she was working below stairs.
Still, if Horace had any idea Erin had assisted her in fleeing, he would certainly look for clues in her letters and possessions.
“Are you still afraid he will find you?”
Jillian shook her head, “I am more afraid he will vent his anger on Erin. I do wish she would have come with me.”
Marianne shook her head, “You wouldna get her so far from her family. It was quite adventurous of Patrick to come.”
Jillian smiled at the thought of the mild tailor being adventurous.
For another month, Jillian worked on her sewing skills.
Then sickness struck.
First, Patrick became ill. Marianne and Jillian, along with Brennan, the eldest son, worked hard to keep up with the orders in the shop. Then Marianne became ill. Brennan was next.
Jillian knew she could not maintain the shop, and now her time was better spent nursing the ill family. The three youngest O’Toole boys managed to escape the illness, but they were of little help except in fetching water and cleaning linens.
Jillian closed the shop and put out a sign that the family would be back in business as soon as possible.
One week into the illness and Patrick seemed to be improving. Brennan and Marianne were not. Marianne was so feverish it nearly burned Jillian’s hands to touch her. Brennan had begun to ramble on nonsensically.
“I must find a doctor, Paddy,” she urged him to reconsider.
“The doctor is such a distance away,” he argued. “How will you find the way?”
Jillian looked at her dear friend, “I have no choice. They are so very ill.”
Still too weak to physically detain her, Patrick could not prevent her from going. She left early in the morning down the road she was told to take.
She walked for the greater part of the morning, always uncertain that she was even going in the right direction.
Father, please bring me to the doctor. I cannot leave my friends without help after they have rescued me. Please, dear God, help me to find the doctor.
So earnest and consuming was her prayer, she did not hear the wheels of the carriage approaching. Nor did she take note that they had ceased.
“Miss,” a deep voice called out to her, “may I offer you a ride?”
Jillian startled so hard that she nearly lost her balance. She stumbled backward.
The man stepped out of his carriage and began approaching her. The first thing she noticed was his size. Jillian was fairly tall for a woman, but he towered over her by several inches, and he was twice as broad as she.
She took a step back.
He did not pursue her, “You have been walking a good ways and have some distance yet to walk. I beg that you would allow me to assist you.”
Jillian looked about herself. There was nowhere to run. Surely, if this was not a man of integrity his driver was unlikely to care what he did to her.
“I thank you, sir,” she backed up again, “but I am well able to walk.”
He frowned, “Do you live around here?”
She stepped further from him, “In Southam, sir,” she kept her face down.
“You must be quite tired. Where are you going?”
Jillian saw no reason not to tell him, “I must fetch a doctor. My fr – family is ill.”
He scowled, but Jillian hardly noticed as she was looking for the best way to escape should he attack her.
“Would it not have been closer to travel to Radford? I believe they have a doctor there.”
She looked up at him and blinked, “But I am going to Radford.”
He shook his head, “I am afraid not. This is the road to Banbury.”
Jillian glanced around, tears filling her eyes, “No wonder this looked familiar. I have been on this road before.”
He stepped away from her, “Shall I assist you to Banbury for the doctor?”
She shook her head and started back in the direction from which she came, “I think not. It would be better if I went to Radford. It is still closer, I think.”
He shook his head, “You have come nearly six miles I think. You have eight more to go on this road or you can take the six back and add seven more to that to journey to Radford.”
Jillian stood in indecision. She did not know if the doctor in Banbury would come with her to Southam, but if she turned around now, it would be pointless to attempt to make it to Radford tonight.
“Please,” he spoke kindly, “I can help if you will allow it.”
Jillian glanced up at the driver who was now watching the exchange with interest.
She offered up a prayer for protection as he assisted her in and then another for thanks once she was seated in the soft leather seats of the carriage.
“I am Slade Ashley.”
Jillian looked up at him, “It is kind of you to rescue me, Mr. Ashley. My name is Jillian Trent.”
A flicker of something flashed across the man’s face, but then it was gone. Jillian wasn’t sure if it was confusion or something else.
“Miss Trent,” he leaned back, “are you originally from this area?”
She swallowed the dread she had been feeling, “My family came from the Manchester area,” she claimed her mother’s home to avoid connection to her uncle.
“What brought you up here?”
“My parents have passed,” she said the first truth that she could think of. “I am now in the care of family friends.”
He leaned forward a little, “I am sorry to hear that.”
“It has been six years, sir. Though I still wish for them, I no longer grieve as I did.”
He eyed her with curiosity again, “And your friends are now ill?”
“Yes,” she blinked back the tears, “and I am not able to work in their shop alone, and if I can just bring a doctor in, I think they may be well again.”
He seemed to be pondering this, “What kind of shop is this?”
She wondered if he was opposed to a tradesman’s kin sitting in his carriage.
“Mr. O’toole is a tailor, and his wife and I occasionally make some dresses.”
“But they are not family?”
“No,” she shook her head, “they are all the family I have now though.”
He smiled, but it seemed distracted to her.
He was silent for the majority of the remainder of the trip, only speaking to comment on the passing carriages or the deer in the field.
“I thank you
,” Jillian said as he helped her from the carriage in Banbury. “I must go look for the doctor.”
She curtseyed, “Thank you so much.”
He followed after her rushing form, “Miss Trent, I will enquire about the doctor for you.”
She turned so gracefully it seemed to Slade she was dancing, “I thank you Mr. Ashley, but I do not wish to further detain you from your journey.”
“Nonsense,” he met her bright blue eyes, “it will take but a minute. Please wait.”
He didn’t give her a moment to disagree but turned into the inn.
“The doctor’s house is the gray one at the end of the street,” the woman told him.
“Thank you madam,” he glanced around. “I believe we will return when we have completed our errand.”
She grinned at him, and he left.
“Miss Trent,” he came out to find she had wandered a short distance away. He picked up his pace slightly. It would not be seemly to run after the woman or to call out to her, but he wished to do both.
“Miss Trent,” he offered his arm, “may I show the way?”
She took his arm quite naturally and in a manner so proper he suspected once again she must have had gentle beginnings though her present lot was much reduced.
“If you will just direct me, sir. I am certain I can find my way,” she smiled, “I do not always misdirect myself.”
He led her to the door, “Shall we enquire after the doctor?”
The housekeeper brought the man out to them.
“How can I help you?” he had a stern expression. Slade could feel the lady stiffen.
He opened his mouth before she could, “We are here to make use of your services, of course.”
The man looked from one to the other, his mouth becoming more firm.
Slade scowled down at the man. It probably did look bad to have a well-dressed gentleman arrive with a tradesman’s daughter on his arm, looking for a doctor, but he could certainly give them the benefit of the doubt.
“There is a family in Southam that is very ill. They need a doctor.”
The doctor stepped out, “Southam is thirteen miles from here. I have not the time for such a journey.”
Slade assumed the man was worried about the business he would lose by being gone so long, “I can make it worth your while.”
The doctor was still shaking his head.
“Please,” Miss Trent pled with him, “the parents are ill, as is the eldest son. The three youngest are well, but what will become of them?”
The doctor scratched at his neck, “What kind of sickness is it?”
She explained the symptoms.
He sighed and opened the door wide for them, “I cannot come. I have two patients who are very ill and require frequent attentions. However,” he led them to a room filled with bottles, “you may find this helps.
He gave her a small envelope and instructed her how to administer the powder.
“If my patients here recover, I will attempt to come to Southam in two or three days.”
Slade looked down to see Miss Trent beaming up at the man, “Thank you, sir. I pray God will bless you for this.”
She reached into her pocket for a small purse, “How much do I owe you?”
He quoted a number that was so small, Slade knew it could not cover even the cost of making the drug.
Once outside, Miss Trent let go of his arm and met his eye, “I am so grateful to you, Mr. Ashley. You will forgive me now as I must start back.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Trent. May I supply you with lunch before your journey home?”
She lifted her small, cloth bag, “I have bread in here. It will be quite enough.”
He allowed her to walk away, but then hurried toward the livery.
“Do you by chance have a wagon heading up to Southam today?”
“Not today,” the burly man wiped the sweat from his brow with a thick forearm, “but Jacobsen over at the carrier service might.”
Slade nodded his thanks and went to find the carrier service.
They were planning to make one in the morning but were happy to adjust their schedule for a fee.
“There is going to be a young woman walking from here to there. I would like you to pick her up and carry her to Southam.”
The men looked at him with an expression that did not please him.
“Are you men of honor? I will hear of it if so much as a hair on her head is injured.”
The men looked at each other, back to him, and nodded.
They seemed trustworthy, but he was going to go to the inn and inquire of their character before he left town for home.
As nobody in the inn thought the carriers would be likely to harm the lady, Slade ate his meal and got in his carriage, determined to make the next stop by nightfall. He had been delayed, but, for once, he did not mind.
CHAPTER 3
“Trent,” Slade passed the other man in church. He had never cared for the man, but did not bother to pinpoint the reason why. He didn’t need to.
“Your grace,” Horace Trent offered a slight bow
The duke began to walk by, but then turned back, “Trent, you don’t happen to have relatives up in Banbury, do you?”
Horace was surprised the man had deigned to utter more than a civil greeting, “No, sir, I do not.”
Lord Ashley made a face, “Nobody by the name of O’toole?”
Horace scoffed at that, “Sounds Irish to me.”
“So, Jillian Trent is no relation of yours?”
“Jillian?” Horace felt his stomach turn and his knees weaken.
The duke, bored with the conversation, had turned away from the older man and had, thus, failed to see the expression on Mr. Trent’s face.
Horace marched off toward his horse. He rode hard on the way home, speaking briefly to his steward before barking orders to his groomsman to ready the carriage.
“You are leaving, sir?” the butler stood erect at the door. “I shall have your trunks packed.”
“Never mind that,” he growled. “I shall be back soon – and with Miss Jillian.”
The staff watched the carriage as it rolled out of the yard. A horror filled the house – to a person. If the master truly did know where the miss was, she was going to suffer mightily before the week was up.
The instant the master’s carriage was out of the drive, the steward was mounting a horse to go into the village.
“I must send an express,” Mr. Lowell spoke to the lad at the livery.
“Where to, sir?”
“Southam.”
The boy grimaced, “That’s nearly a hundred miles. It’ll cost ya.”
Lowell nodded, “I am aware of this, but it is necessary.”
Marianne, now healthy along with the rest of her family, received the express with some trepidation. She had never gotten an express and could not figure out why she would be getting one now.
She tore it open and looked at the message before running to the shop to find her husband.
“Patrick,” she interrupted him while he was with a customer, “where is Jillian?”
He glanced up, mildly annoyed, “She left for the house over an hour ago. What is the matter?”
Already beginning to cry, Marianne handed the message to her husband.
He has found you and is coming. Please hide well.
Patrick rose and looked at the other man, “I beg your pardon, but we have an emergency.”
The man was clearly concerned, “Is it Miss Trent?”
Patrick nodded, “We think she has been kidnapped.”
Jillian was unaware of the search party being formed. She was unaware of the children crying for her. She was also unaware of the rocking motion of the carriage as it carried her south.
When she finally did awaken, it was dark.
She looked up to see her uncle’s angry glare boring into her.
Jesus, save me.
“You thought you would escape, huh? Making a laughing
stock of me?”
She did not answer.
“I bet you’re surprised to see me alive.”
“Not at all,” she finally managed.
“We’re going home now,” he sounded frighteningly calm.
She shook her head, not willing to give up her new freedom.
“You know, I was thinking the past couple days – as I drove up here – about where I had heard that name O’toole. Then it dawned on me – your pretty little maid is named O’toole.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes, certain he could not see her clearly in the dark.
“You can try to run, my darling niece, but I’ll find you. If I have to go through the effort of that, though, I may find the need to find some comfort in someone close at hand.”
Jillian felt bile rising in her throat.
“She has an elderly mother and a few little sisters too, doesn’t she.”
“Leave them alone,” the words ripped out of her throat, “I won’t run. Just leave them alone.”
He leaned back in his seat, “That is all I needed to hear.”
The mood in the house should have been joyful at the return of the Miss Trent. The staff knew, however, that the girl they all loved and admired was about to suffer greatly for her brief period of freedom.
CHAPTER 4
“Did you hear that Trent’s niece came home?” Lord Sommers commented as the men played billiards at the club.
“His niece?” Slade looked up. “I thought he had no family.”
Sommers puffed on his cigar, “Apparently she was up north on a visit to some friends.”
Slade was easily able to piece together the puzzle.
“When did this happen?”
“She’s been home for two, maybe three, days now.”
Slade made the next shot for the game.
Sommers just laughed, “I should know not to bet against you, Ashley. I never win,” he pulled out a bill, but Slade waved him away.
“Save it,” he put on his jacket, “I’m sure to win more from you next time – I’ll collect then.”
Slade wondered why the girl had lied to him. Obviously, she planned to come back here – to return to her uncle’s home. Why then did she claim to have no family? Was it to gain sympathy? And why was she out with no chaperone – dressed so plainly?
She also had to know he was a duke and yet she addressed him informally. This was not vanity speaking. His family’s estate was the largest in the region. It would be virtually impossible to mix among the gentry and not know this.