by Julia Parks
b
The two weeks until Open Day flew by. Jane was tempted several times to postpone the entire event, but she managed to accomplish all that needed to be done.
Aunt Sophie had returned within a few days after receiving Jane’s missive. Cherry arrived a week before the festivities. She received a chilly greeting from her mother, but they were both too good-natured for it to last. Cherry produced a charming, rose-coloured dress from her trunk and presented it to her mother, who was very shortly hugging her daughter and exclaiming over every ribbon and flounce on Cherry’s new Parisian wardrobe.
Jane was hurrying along the upstairs hall when Cherry called to her. “Jane, please come here. I have a present for you, too.”
“How thoughtful of you, Cherry,” said Jane as she unwrapped the package. Inside lay a beautiful comb and brush with handles carved out of a delicate crystal. “They are beautiful, Cherry. Thank you so much!”
Cherry’s face lit up like a sunbeam. “I’m so glad! It took me days to decide what to get you, Jane. I knew our tastes were dissimilar in fashions, so I didn’t want to choose something you would consider hideous. And though you love to read, a book seemed too impersonal. Then I saw these. You have such beautiful hair. I knew they were perfect for you!”
“Thank you, Cherry for the brush and comb, as well as the compliment.”
Jane’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she quickly excused herself. Shutting the door to her own room, she indulged in a fit of crying. When the tears had been spent, she bathed her face and picked up her schedule of tasks.
b
The day before the gala event, Jane received a letter from her friend Sally. Jane had hoped Sally would simply arrive on her doorstep since she had yet to receive a letter of regrets. But as she read, she discovered she was doomed to disappointment.
Dearest Jane,
I must apologize for waiting so long to reply to your kind invitation, but I was so hoping I could come for a visit. Little Andrew has had the chicken pox, so I was waiting to make sure he was recovered enough for his mummy to leave him. Yesterday, I decided he was indeed restored to health after he took his pony out for a ride without permission--in the streets of London, if you please! His father says the boy is like me!
So, I had the maid pack my clothes while I tended to the hundred and one last details. Then I went to my room to dress. I sat down before the glass and looked at my face. I saw six red dots on my cheeks! Chicken pox! Can you imagine? Let me tell you, it is not amusing! I have spent the morning trying not to scratch, but it is impossible! And, my dear Jane, they appear in the most shocking places!
So, I fear Heartland will be forced to have its Open Day without me. But enough about my ailment. I’m beginning to sound like my great-aunt Penelope.
Now, I must catch you up on all the latest on-dits. First of all (since you wrote me not long ago to inquire into the gentleman’s background), you’ll be interested to know that the former Lord Devlin is now Earl of Cheswick. He and his mother are on their way to York even as I write.
Also, do you remember Geraldine, that hateful, red-haired girl at school? You’ll never guess who she has just married! A bishop, no less! It seems that...
Jane finished reading the letter quickly. To be sure, the only fact that interested and distressed her was that Sally wasn’t coming. And Mrs. Peterson? Her journey to York explained why Jane hadn’t received a response to that invitation. She was relieved to know it wasn’t because Drew’s mother had discovered Jane had tried to kill her son!
Still, Open Day had lost some of its sparkle for her. Sally’s silliness and esprit de vivre made everyone feel like laughing. Without her, Jane would just be the most proper Miss Lindsay. And while she would be hostess to a veritable army, she would still be alone.
b
Finally the big day came. The guests began arriving in the morning. Jane wore one of her Parisian gowns, a pale peach crepe. When Cherry saw it, she exclaimed over its cut, demanding to know if Jane had discovered a new dressmaker in Bath.
Jane smiled enigmatically. “No, Cherry. I still patronize Mrs. Warner’s shop.” That was true enough. She had been in Bath only two days earlier and had stopped in to speak to Mrs. Warner about a new hat.
Jane turned to greet their first guest. The remainder of the morning was filled with games and relays for the children. Men of all social stations participated in footraces, and some of the young bucks organized a horse race. The ladies played croquet or set a few stitches on their needlework, their gossiping tongues keeping time with their needles. The Dowager Duchess of Wentworth shared a comfortable chat with a farmer’s wife as they discussed topics ranging from the best type of apple for baking to raising children. Sir Humphrey and the squire discussed politics with the village smith. And here and there, groups of fashionable and not-so-fashionable young people laughed and teased, entertaining themselves with childish games like tag and spillikins.
By late afternoon, the lines between the classes became apparent once again. After dark, there was to be dancing under the trees as well as a huge buffet. In preparation for what many considered the highlight of Heartland’s Open Day, everyone was resting—ladies in the bedchambers, farmers’ wives on quilts spread on the green lawn. Napping children shared their pallets with nannies or mothers. The gentlemen played piquet or billiards while sipping port or brandy. The tenant farmer joined the village shopkeeper for a cooling glass of ale.
The sun met the horizon. The lawns were once again busy as the Heartland servants set out the plentiful buffet before joining the merriment.
The orchestra, hired from the Bath Assemblies, began to tune their instruments. Like magic, the guests assembled for the first dance. Following a tradition begun so long ago no one living remembered its origin, Pipkin bowed in front of the elegant Miss Lindsay and requested her hand for the country dance. Anyone not acquainted with the couple might have mistaken them for grandfather and granddaughter, so handsome they were together. At the end of the first refrain, the other guests joined in.
Jane noticed Cherry clinging rather too closely to a young man she didn’t know. “Pipkin, who is that with Miss Cherry?”
“I believe that is Mr. Pope-Jones, miss. He is staying with the squire. I understand Miss Cherry made his acquaintance during her recent sojourn to Paris.”
Before the next dance began, Jane sought out her cousin. Cherry was still in Mr. Pope-Jones’s company, but her mother was also present.
“Jane!” exclaimed Aunt Sophie. “Please, you must tell me what to do!”
“Mama, you act as if we have done something wrong,” whispered Cherry indignantly.
“Mrs. Pettigrew, I assure you…” began the young man.
“Excuse me,” said Jane, breaking into the babble. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Where are your manners, Cherry?” asked Aunt Sophie.
“Jane, this is Mr. Reginald Pope-Jones. My fiancé,” she added defiantly. “Reggie, this is my Cousin Jane.”
The handsome young man made her a creditable bow. “Charmed, Miss Lindsay.”
Jane hardly noticed, so shocked was she by Cherry’s revelation. “How do you do?” asked Jane automatically. Before Mr. Pope-Jones could evince a response, Jane took Cherry by the arm, saying, “I want a word with you.”
She led her reluctant cousin away from the other guests. They settled on a stone bench at the edge of the gardens.
“I know what you will say,” pouted Cherry.
“Good, then you probably have already thought of the answers. Tell me about your fiancé.”
“Reginald comes from an excellent family.” Jane nodded, and Cherry continued, her defensive words coming faster. “He is the eldest of three. He will inherit an agreeable estate on his father’s death. He already receives a yearly income of two thousand from his investments.”
“Investments?”
“Yes, it is the most fascinating thing, Jane, but he knows exactly what and whe
n to buy and sell. He is really brilliant,” said Cherry in awe-struck tones.
Jane smiled. If she hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she wouldn’t have believed Cherry would look beyond the surface at anyone. And here she was, describing Mr. Pope-Jones’s brilliance at the first opportunity. Jane began to listen more keenly.
“Mother thinks we haven’t known each other long enough. Jane, you must persuade her; she will heed your advice.”
“About what, precisely, do you need me to persuade Aunt Sophie?”
“That it is quite proper for us to become betrothed so quickly and that we may announce our betrothal this evening!” Cherry’s eyes shone like diamonds, her face radiating happiness. Jane nodded her assent and received a crushing hug.
b
The guests were gone or sleeping in one of the many bedchambers. The house was silent as the ormolu clock on the mantel in her room chimed four o’clock in the morning. Jane forced herself to close her eyes and rid her mind of all thought. Gradually, she relaxed, and sleep overtook her.
Jane slept late. Many of her overnight guests had already departed for their homes. She ignored the morning gown Tucker had laid out. Instead, Jane donned her oldest, most comfortable riding habit. She paid a quick visit to her old nurse. Though Nana refused to leave her room, she still expected to hear all the details about Open Day. Jane remained only a few moments, promising to return that evening.
Jane tripped lightly down the back stairs and out to the stables. James threw her into the saddle and prepared to mount his own horse when Jane waved him away, insisting on riding alone like old times.
She rode to the abbey. Though she was careful to stay clear of the high, crumbling walls, she renewed her acquaintance with every nook and cranny except, of course, for Brother Valentine’s tomb. Like an exorcist, she resolutely banished her memories of Drew from the ruins.
An hour later, she rubbed Sinbad’s velvety nose and fed him a carrot before climbing on a fallen stone and remounting.
“Well, old fellow, it’s just you and I now. Or soon will be. Cherry will be married next spring. Aunt Sophie will probably go and live with her and Mr. Pope-Jones when they return from their wedding trip. I’m not complaining. It is quite peaceful at home by myself. And I certainly have interests to pursue and friends to visit. But sometimes, I wonder…”
The big horse never did learn what his mistress wondered, for Jane dug in her heels and off they went.
b
Drew shut the last drawer with a sigh of relief.
“That should do it, Lord Cheswick,” said the lawyer, straightening the small mound of papers on the old desk.
“Good! I never realized what a prolific letter writer my uncle was.”
“Oh, yes indeed! That’s how he kept abreast of all the latest details in society. Now, I must be going, unless you have other questions?”
“No, Mr. Pender. I want to thank you for all your help these past weeks. Not being familiar with my uncle’s business affairs, I’m afraid I would have made a sad botch of matters.”
“Not at all, my lord. I have every confidence that the Cheswick estate will remain in prime case. And please, let me know when you will arrive in London. The house there has been shut up for so long, it will take an army of maids to clean it. I’ll go ahead and hire the main staff, then you may make any changes you wish when you arrive.”
“Good. I won’t keep you. I know you are anxious to begin your journey.” Drew shook hands with the solicitor.
Sitting back down behind his uncle’s—no, he reminded himself, his—desk, Drew felt a great rush of relief. Finally, it was over. There would be no more funeral visits, no more solicitors. He could relax now in his own home.
A moment later, he was drumming his fingers on the smooth desktop. Then he stood up and took a turn about the room. Idly, he studied the titles of the books on one shelf. He moved to the window where a steady rain was falling. If only he could go for a ride, this restlessness would leave him.
Drew returned to the desk and sat down. The dark, shiny surface was vacant; all evidence of his uncle’s affairs had been neatly summed up and stored. The estate was in excellent condition. The house was in no need of repairs.
Even if I could go for a ride, there would be nothing to do, nothing to accomplish.
“Drew, dear? Has Mr. Pender gone?” asked his mother from the doorsill.
“Yes, we have finally finished.”
“Good, I know you are glad of that. Luncheon is ready.”
“At least that will give me something to do,” he grumbled.
His mother cocked her head to one side and studied her son carefully. “You are bored!” she exclaimed.
“Am I? Perhaps you are right, Mother.” He escorted her to the small dining room. A large tray of cold meats and cheeses occupied the centre of the cosy table. A tureen of steaming rarebit stew and a basket of hot scones completed the simple repast.
“The signs are obvious, my dear.”
“I ask you, Mother, is it any wonder? I must admit I misjudged my uncle in one respect. He may have treated us badly, but he was an excellent landowner. His tenants prosper, his land is well tended, and his house is in perfect repair. Mr. Pender told me that even the house in London receives a yearly inspection from the handyman.”
“Yes, Rupert managed everything and everyone. Still, the house in London has been empty for fifteen years or more. In that time, carpets fade; upholstery grows brittle. I’m afraid we will have a great deal of work to do there.”
“Do you think so?” asked Drew eagerly.
“Oh, yes. I would be happy to help. Besides, now that you have inherited the title, you will want to take your seat in the House of Lords. I understand that any man with political aspirations simply must have a wife to act as his hostess, so you will want the town house ready for her.”
“This is one politician who won’t. You’ll just have to act as my hostess,” he sad, grinning at her.
“What? You mean I am to be denied my grandchildren?”
“Mother! Please, the servants!”
His mother, who had not so long before been little more than the housekeeper at Cheswick House, knew very well that the servants were probably listening. But she also knew these servants. They would never allow what they overheard to leave the house.
“Drew, I have heard enough. You have been moping around this house for the past month. You are depressing to be with, my dear.”
“Thank you so much,” he snapped.
She patted his hand. “You’re welcome, for only someone who cares would dare tell you these things. Drew, go to London. I’ll come along, too. We’ll trick the town house out in the finest style. And then you may drive me back to Bath, return Jane’s pendant, settle down together, and give me a houseful of grandchildren!”
Drew stood up so abruptly that he knocked over the heavy chair, the sound reverberating through the walls. He picked it up, gripping the back of it, and asked, “Do you think it would be so easy? For God’s sake, Mother, she shot me!”
“And so would I if you appeared all of a sudden in my bed.”
“Mother, I was not in her bed!”
“Very well then, on her bed. The poor thing had just come to realize someone wanted her dead. How could she be thinking straight?”
“Ha! Poor thing? Jane?” he scoffed. Then he was silent, thoughtful.
“It will take at least five months to redecorate that monster of a house. Jane will have thought things through by then. She will be missing you, Drew. We’ll return to Bath, and…”
Drew smiled, a tentative expression, neither full of despair or hope. “And she will fall into my arms.”
“If she doesn’t, my dear Drew, you’ll just be forced to pull her into them!”
Chapter Eleven
Jane smiled and waved until the carriage was out of sight. Pulling her shawl close, she hurriedly returned to the warm house. As she set a chair closer to the fire, she reflected that December
had been a cold, dismal month to this point, far colder than usual.
As a matter of fact, the Christmas season promised to be different, too, and the weather suited her mood. She would be alone for the first time in her life on Christmas. Oh, not truly alone. Friends would drop by, or she could call out the carriage and pay visits to neighbours—by herself.
“What on earth is the matter with me?” Jane looked around sheepishly Good! She had closed the salon door. It would not do for sharp-eared Pipkin to think she’d taken to talking to herself. “Which you have,” she added aloud once more.
Jane laughed. Now she was being maudlin. Perhaps she should have gone with her aunt and Cherry to the Pope-Joneses’ for Christmas. But somehow, it hadn’t appealed to her. Was she jealous of Cherry’s happiness? She didn’t think so. Rather, it was the fact that Jane felt Christmas should be a time for family and close friends, not an excuse for an awkward social institution like a house party.
So here I am, looking around the empty gold salon.
Enough of this! Jane stood up and pulled the bell.
“Pipkin, tell the stables to send round the carriage. I’m going shopping.”
“Very good, miss.”
b
Jane spent the remainder of the morning and the early afternoon searching for little gifts for every staff member at Heartland as well as each tenant’s children. With Tucker’s wise council, she felt she acquitted herself very well. She selected a new Bible for Pipkin, who tended to wear them out. She purchased a box of sweets and some handkerchiefs for Nana, and for Mrs. Brown, a journal of blank pages, so the cook could record her recipes. For the maids and footmen, she selected small tokens. Finally, Jane shopped for the children of her tenants. She bought lengths of soft rope to make jump ropes for the girls, and Tom Summers offered to add painted wooden handles to the ends of each one. For the boys, she had wooden tops, and for the babies, warm blankets. And for all of them, she had an ample supply of sweets. Shopping for the children was the most fun of all.